Death and the Goblin
by Hamilcar
Summary: Movieverse, post Spiderman 3. Peter is having a difficult time after the battle with Venom. But his situation is about to change, for better and for worse, when that which revives the one he misses most also brings back his earliest enemy. Slash, HP
1. Prologue

A note before this fic gets underway: obviously there will be spoilers for Spiderman 3 This fic is inspired, in part, by a recent announcement by one of the actors that: "It turns out I may not be completely dead."

That being said, this is going to be an eventual Peter/Harry fic. Don't like it, then you don't have to read it.

For those who do want to, however - enjoy. And a last comment: occasional thoughts from Peter are in Italics.

OOO

The light of the moon reflected off of the tops of the trees and the breeze rustled their leaves. Above the slight rush of the wind, a scraping noise could be heard; there were none there to hear it, however. It was far past the cemetery's closing time and even the most dedicated mourners of the dead had left for their homes.

The scraping suddenly gave way to pounding, attracting the attention of a nearby squirrel. The animal pattered over to the soft earth, then dashed away in fright when it was suddenly disturbed from beneath. A hand, scratched and bloody, protruded and scrabbled for purchase as if trying to pull itself up.

Before long another hand followed, desperately shoving the sod aside. A torso rose from the violently splintered remains of what had been a coffin and took deep, gasping breaths of the damp night air. His lungs burnt from the sudden exertion and he felt disoriented and weak. Shuddering from the chill he dragged the rest of his body out from beneath the ground and stood on shaky legs.

Stumbling towards the streetlights lining the nearest road, the figure brushed dirt off of himself. The still that surrounded him was interrupted by one faintly whispered word.

"Peter..."

OOO

Peter Parker slid into his desk and did his best to concentrate on the lecture that Dr. Connors was giving. It had been a month since the events that had so abruptly shattered his life, a month of self-doubt and agitation and loneliness. He kept wondering whether he ought to have done more, whether he should have gone to Harry sooner before it had been to late, tried harder to break free from the bonds with which Venom had lashed him.

Every thought he gave to the subject eventually seemed to insinuate that it was his fault. He halfway believed it.

To make matters worse, life had failed to revert to anything close to normal; instead it plodded along at an awkward pace. Gwen had been silent towards him, despite working with him, ever since the incident in the club. Mary Jane had attempted to restart their relationship, but even he sensed that it was half-hearted. She was still having no luck and he was still lauded, but now all the praise felt empty in a way she couldn't imagine.

He had failed when it had counted most.

The lecture concluded but he barely noticed and didn't stop to talk to Dr. Connors afterward. Instead, he headed straight back home to his apartment and buried himself in work. There was nothing else to do, after all; just work at school and wait for crime to happen, over and over again, with brief bouts of sleep and lukewarm dates interspersed in between. It was depressing when he thought about it, so he attempted not to as much as possible.

He had just started on the reading assignment Dr. Connors had given when there was a knock at the door.

"Peter?" Ursula's voice could be heard through the thin walls.

He sighed and stood from his chair, jostling the door open with some force. The gangly girl stood on the other side, her eyes wide and frightened.

"Peter, there's someone here who's asking for you..." She said in a timid voice that verged on terror.

Opening the door wider, Peter saw a figure plodding up the stairs behind her and stepping out of the shadows. Ragged and streaked with dirt, still scarred - _though not as badly as I remembered_ - panting and exhausted, stood the figure of Harry Osborn. He stretched out a hand to the shocked brunette.

"Peter..." He reached and tried to smile before abruptly collapsing.

"Harry!" Peter sprang forward and caught the other boy in his arms. "Call an ambulance!" He directed Ursula who jumped in a panic then fumbled with the phone. Peter knelt down and cradled the body, wiping dirt off of his face and hair off of his forehead. The body was warm and he could feel the blood pulsing beneath the skin.

It looked like Harry. It sounded like Harry. He wanted very much to believe it was Harry. But experience had taught him to be wary of tricks at every turn and so he suppressed both his joy at seeing Harry and his fear that it might not be him for the moment.

Instead, he satisfied himself with a brief flicker of hope as the interminable minutes ticked by, waiting for answers to the myriad questions that weighed on his mind.

If it was Harry - _oh please let it be Harry_ - then how, exactly, had it happened?

And what would it mean for both of them if he was back?

OOO

And there you have it. More answers will come next chapter and more problems as well.

As far as the announcement for the 4th movie goes, I'm hoping (against most fan sentiment that I've seen thus far, actually...) that it is Harry. After all, yes, his death was touching. But barring a reintroduction of Flash Thompson or something, is interaction limited to MJ and Aunt May really going to be that great? Secondary, 'good' male characters are important too.

Regardless, if you liked this fic or have suggestions, please review. It is appreciated.


	2. The Awakening

_OOO_

A million thoughts crowded Peter's mind as he waited for the doctor to come out of the room where Harry was being treated. He fidgeted with his hands and tried to control his breathing; and for a brief moment, he considered calling Ursula to reassure her that everything was all right, except that even he wasn't sure if it was.

She had watched the ambulance leave, standing in the doorway and looking at them both with wild eyes that didn't quite understand what was happening. She wouldn't tell her father, however. That much Peter knew and he was grateful for it. He wasn't sure how he would go about explaining Harry's appearance if he had to.

An hour and seventeen minutes ticked away, with Peter obsessively looking at the clock every three or four, until the doctor finally emerged. Peter sprang from his seat and began venting his anxieties through rapid questioning.

"Is he going to be OK? How much blood has he lost? I mean, is he really even alive? Are you sure it's him and not just an impersonator or a bunch of dirt or something?"

The doctor looked at him like he had gone crazy.

"Dirt? _What_?"

Peter felt a blush spreading across his cheeks.

"I mean... I'm sorry. I just read that somewhere. Comics. I don't know. I'm a bit confused."

"As strange as his case may be, this is not a comic book." The doctor rolled his eyes, as if to say 'young people.' "As for your friend in there - he was dehydrated, had a few minor scratches and needed some blood transfusion. However, apart from that plus a rather large amount of scarring, he looks to be well enough, at least bodily. He seems reluctant to speak and I can only surmise that he's gone through some trauma. You say that you know him personally but found him when he stumbled into your apartment complex?"

"Yeah," Peter nodded. "I think he walked there."

"Well whatever happened to him, it's been a long ordeal. I wonder that he tried to find you instead of going straight to a hospital. He wasn't drunk, though - we ran tests. Which brings me to something slightly... odd."

The doctor flipped a few pages on his clipboard and Peter felt like ice was creeping around his heart. There had to be something drastically wrong; Harry died, he'd seen it. And such things simply did not reverse themselves.

"There's something slightly odd about his blood, though I can't quite pinpoint what it is. And as for the story he's telling - he claims that he's been in a coma and was accidentally buried alive. I can't say that's a very believable story but, honestly, I don't know what else could have happened. There's nothing to contradict his story, besides the inherent ridiculousness of the claim, and given the nature of his current injuries, scarring and the unidentifiable factor in his blood..." The doctor shrugged. "I think he's going to have a few legal issues to sort out, but we've done what we can for him here."

"Can I see him?" Peter managed to ask, though his mind was alight with fear and suspicion about what it was that the blood test had picked up.

"He asked for you so I suppose you may; however, try not to tax him too much. He should probably be getting rest; not that he hasn't had quite a bit of that lately," the doctor said with a brief smile that faded when Peter stared blankly at his attempt at a joke.

Seeing Harry stretched out on the hospital bed brought back a rush of memories about the last time he had dragged Harry to the hospital, albeit under rather different circumstances. Harry had sought him again, but not to kill him - at least Peter didn't think so. He had wanted to - _to what_? Peter wondered what his motive was - or even if there was any motive, besides the fact that he could trust Peter to help him.

"Hey buddy," Harry said, turning his head when he heard Peter enter.

"Hey," Peter replied, forcing a smile. "You know, we should probably stop meeting like this."

"Yeah - it's hard on my back. And these hospital gowns do nothing for me."

Peter pulled up a chair and leaned in closer, looking at the damaged side of Harry's face. It was still lined with scar tissue; however, he couldn't help thinking again that the scars weren't nearly as bad.

"Harry, what happened?"

"I'm not sure myself. I remember the fight. I remember the glider, talking to you, bleeding... it felt like I was falling asleep. And then I woke up, inside a dark enclosed space. I panicked and tried to get someone to hear me, but it was completely silent. I was lying on something silky and I realized it was a coffin, so I started punching the lid. It splintered - I think. The sequence of things is rather foggy. I remember hitting things, scraping, bleeding - and thinking about you. When I hit the air, that was my first thought, that I had to find you. That somehow you'd know the reason and could explain it.

"When I got to your place that girl was there. I think I scared her..."

"Just a bit," Peter admitted.

"I didn't mean to, but all I could think about was getting to you because you'd know what to do. You could handle it. And then - then we came here."

They lapsed into silence for a moment, Harry breathing heavily and trying to read Peter's face, and Peter's mind coming to a conclusion he hoped he could avoid.

"Harry?" Peter bit his lip. "I don't want to upset you. So you don't have to answer if you don't want to. Did you ever treat yourself with your father's formula?"

Harry looked away for a moment, then back again. He nodded.

"Yeah. I did," he confirmed in a voice that bespoke regret.

"They found something in your blood, Harry, and I think it might have been from that. You must have been healing or regenerating or something, just really slowly, and it kept you alive. I can't think of any other explanation."

He allowed the information to sink in, waiting to see how Harry would react before he brought up anything else, the issues that such a realization inevitably raised.

"You know," Harry said at length, "That makes sense. When the bomb exploded in my face, it didn't do nearly the damage that it should have. And even though I was blinded in the one eye, my vision has started to come back. I think the scars might be receding too."

_He noticed it too_, Peter thought.

"So yeah, that seems reasonable. Don't know how I can explain it though, without explaining about my father and everything..."

Peter could hear the worry in his voice but kept pressing.

"Did you make any changes to your father's formula, Harry?" He asked in an urgent tone.

Harry gave a brief laugh.

"Are you serious, Pete? You know how bad I was in chemistry in high school; I would have failed if it weren't for you. And since that project was supposed to be shelved I couldn't exactly have other people working on it without letting them in on things. I didn't even _find _that stuff until after the incident with Octavius.

"Why do you ask?"

Peter bit his lip, reluctant to say, but Harry's train of thought quickly caught up with his and the other's eyes grew wide.

"Pete... you don't think..."

"If it did this for you, Harry, and if you essentially used the same formula..." He trailed off.

Harry's hands convulsed at his side and clutched the sheets; Peter wondered what thoughts were going through his mind but he didn't interrupt them.

"If you want me to leave..." He said at last.

"No. Stay. It's fine." Harry's face was hard and set and Peter could tell he was completely tense. Then he fell back onto the pillows and looked at Peter. "We don't even know if that happened. Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Maybe it didn't. Maybe there's some factor we don't know about."

Neither was very confident in the assessment but they latched onto it as a way to keep from believing the worst, if only for a moment.

"So what do we do now?" Peter asked hesitantly.

"I get out of here, to start with. And then - then we exhume the body, assuming that there is one." he said with an exhausted sigh. "I just can't run away from him, can I Pete? He's going to follow me forever, even beyond the grave, even after we're dead."

Not knowing how to respond, Peter stayed silent and watched Harry fall asleep, keeping vigil until the nurse came in to tell him that he would have to leave. Harry was staying overnight for observation so Peter left the hospital alone. When he got back to the apartment, Ursula was waiting.

"Your friend - how is he?"

Peter gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

"He's going to be fine."

Then he trudged upstairs and fell asleep, trying not to think about the crime that was happening that he was simply too exhausted to fight.

_OOO_

The next day Peter awoke and briefly considered going to class; he quickly dismissed the idea, however. Harry needed him and he wasn't about to start shirking that obligation again, not even for Doctor Connors. When he reached the hospital, Harry had just gotten up and grinned when he saw Peter come in.

"Hey! Nice to see you here so early."

"I brought you some clothes," he said, returning the smile. "They're mine but a bit big, so they should fit."

"Thanks so much - personally I never want to wear that three piece again. Now I can just have them get rid of it without having to go home half-naked." He paused. "Assuming I have a home to go to. What's been happening with that? Do you know?"

Peter shook his head.

"Since you didn't have a will I think that they were trying to find relatives, however distant. We're having much luck though. Bernard was still there the last I heard and was keeping the place up, waiting for news."

"And the company?"

"The Vice President took your place, the last I'd heard. And... well, there have been rumors I've heard down at the Bugle that Stark is looking to acquire it while things are in flux."

Harry's face darkened but he simply nodded. The he turned back to Peter.

"Have you told MJ about all this yet?"

"That you're alive? No. Wasn't sure what you'd want me to do so I thought I'd leave it up to you. We should probably tell her soon, though, so she doesn't find out from somewhere else."

"Yeah. Well then - why don't we?"

"What?"

"Let's go find MJ. She's probably at work, right?"

"Yeah, she should be."

Harry rose from the bed and went behind a curtain to get dressed.

"Are you guys still dating? Well, have you started? I mean... You know what I mean. I'm sorry. About the whole MJ thing. Have you two gotten back together then?"

The curtain was thin and Peter could see Harry's silhouette pulling on the clothes. Feeling awkward and voyeuristic, he looked down while he answered.

"Yeah. Kinda. I mean, it's been tough, with everything. And she's still struggling a bit which is hard."

"And what about you?" Harry asked, pulling the curtain back and giving him a small smile. "Still the hero of NYC?"

When he looked at Peter, Peter knew he was blushing. It was better than being hated, but all the recognition was a bit awkward.

"Yeah, for what it's worth. Doesn't really pay the bills, though."

"Well, assuming I can get back my identity, you know where I stand on that. At least now."

"And you know where I stand on accepting help like that," Peter returned with a smile.

"Yeah. I do." There was a beat. "Come on, let's get out of here. I've have about all of this place that I can stand."

They took a cab over to the jazz club where Peter knew MJ would be waiting, agreeing that Peter would go in first to prepare her and then bring in Harry. The scarred industrialist shifted in his seat and it dawned on Peter that this would be one of the first times Harry had been out in public with his scars - barring the final incident between them, given that most people probably never saw his face.

A sudden stab of guilt hit Peter and he wished he knew what to say. There were no words, though, so he kept silent and staring out of the window, wondering what MJ would think when she found out.

_OOO_

A/N: There's the first 'full' chapter, with some pretty good hints as to where this story is headed. Right now it's a bit more inside Peter's POV than Harry's but that will change. Also, kudos to anybody who recognizes the homage from the last chapter that Peter refers to at the beginning of this one.

Thanks for reading, please do review and feel free to give any comments, criticisms, etc. you might have - and if you'd like to ask a question, go ahead and I will respond.


	3. Homecoming

_OOO_

By the time they reached the club, the silence between them was agonizing. Harry tilted his head in the window so that only the 'good' half of his face could be seen; the rest was hidden in shadow, just beyond sight. Peter sighed in agitation, wondering why he wasn't more relieved at this turn of events.

_After all_, he thought, _shouldn't I be happy? Wasn't this what I wanted, to have my best friend by my side?_

But something wrong still lingered, filling the space and separating them. The cab parked in front of the club and Peter passed the driver a bill as they both got out. Harry immediately shuffled off to the side of the building, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible and once the cab had driven elsewhere, Peter joined his friend.

"You ready for this?"

"Yeah. I guess," Harry muttered, looking at his feet. "I mean, she has to be told. And why wouldn't I be? It will be fine."

There was another long moment of tension before Peter, unable to take the awkward silence, leaned in and whispered.

"You know, if you're feeling self conscious, the Majestic Theater is a block or two over - I could run and see if they have any extra masks in the back."

Harry snapped his head around and looked at him incredulously; and for a moment Peter was horrified at what he'd just done. It was all well and good to make wisecracks to criminals when he was beating them up, but to his best friend? Over an embarrassing injury that he'd inflicted upon him?

The Harry suddenly grinned and gave him a slap; not a hard one, like the night he'd been drunk at that party, but a friendly admonishment, letting Peter know that he had taken it as teasing. It was an unexpected rush of relief to Harry, to hear a joke made at his expense but to find himself not offended.

The whole affair had, after all, been due in part to his own stupidity, antagonizing Peter and trying to kill him - though he'd rather forget about the latter. Peter had meant no harm; Peter _cared _about him. And this time he knew that, knew deep down beyond whatever poisonous whispers might be poured into his ear.

"Nice, Pete. Only you would see a mutilated, recently dead man and think - 'showtunes!'"

"Are you implying something?" Peter feigned offense.

"What? Nooooooo - not at all. Now, are we going to tell her sometime today?"

Peter threw his hands up in the air.

"I'm going!"

As Harry paced impatiently outside, Peter entered the crowded club and cast his glance about for Mary Jane. He found her without much difficult, as she was one of only a few red-heads in the place, and as soon as he caught her eye he motioned her over towards him. Setting down the drinks she was serving at the table, she made her way through the crowd towards him.

"Peter?" She gave him a confused look. "What are you doing here? Don't you have class right now?"

"MJ, something important has happened. It's, well - maybe you should sit down?"

"There's not enough space for customers as it is. Just tell me, Peter."

"It's Harry!" He blurted.

For a moment, Mary Jane felt dizzy, as though she were going to fall backwards, and she clutched the serving tray she was holding.

"What do you mean? What about Harry?"

"He's not dead, MJ. He was... I mean... He got buried alive. He wasn't dead, he was just in, well - well, I really don't know. Some sort of regenerative coma to the best that I can guess. But he's not dead, MJ. He's outside - waiting."

Without a second thought she nodded.

Peter was out the door and back in with Harry before she had time to turn around. They stood there, the three, Harry and Peter looking at MJ and she looking back at them. Then they met in a relieved rush as they simultaneously embraced one another. Mary Jane felt like her rib cage was going to fracture but she didn't want to let go; none of them did, not for a very long while.

Even though her shift had two hours left, her boss gave her the rest of the day and the three piled into another cab, this one headed for the penthouse where so much had passed between them.

_OOO_

When Bernard heard that Harry was ringing for him downstairs, he was fully prepared to take one look at whatever pranksters had decided to opt for a totally tasteless joke and have the police escort them out directly. The only reason that he bothered to do it personally was that the voice was similar enough - and the front door guards seemed convinced enough - that his octogenarian heart held out an absurd bit of hope.

He knew his Harry was dead, that he had been bereft of the closest thing he had to a son in this world; but oh there were days when he imagined it had all turned out differently.

The day he awoke to discover that it _had _turned out differently, he thought he would have a heart attack. But he didn't. He didn't move, he didn't bat an eye. Instead, he simply took in the sight of Harry flanked by his two friends, back as though the sins of the father had not been visited on the sun and history, in the form of a pronged glider, had not absurdly repeated itself.

Then he bowed and looked at Harry directly into his good eye.

"Very well, Master Harry. Shall I prepare two guest rooms?"

"Yes, please," he said, glancing at Peter and Mary Jane who nodded.

The four began walking towards the elevator; as they did, Peter and MJ went on ahead while Harry pulled Bernard back, feeling his heart pounding as he did what he knew he had to.

"Bernard - we're going to need to exhume my father's body. Make arrangements and be discrete about it, if you would."

"Of course sir," he answered, his face unchanged, giving no indication that the request had been anything but ordinary; Harry might have been asking him for lunch instead of asking him to coordinate digging up a corpse.

"Thank you."

"And if I might say so, sir," he went on, grasping Harry's shoulder and touching him for the first time, "It's good to have you back."

"Good to be back, Bernard. Good to be back."

_OOO_

For Harry, the evening contained a surprisingly low amount of alcohol, despite the fact that talk of his company eventually came up as their reminiscing came to a close. He wasn't too worried about re-establishing his identity; dental records, retina scans and so forth would be more than enough to prove that he was who he said he was. And the coma, 'buried-alive' story was just believable enough that perhaps no mention of the formula needed to be made. He could help the company again.

The issue was how long that would last, even after he regained his father's place. From what Bernard told him, Stark seemed bound and determined to have OsCorp, had been circling like a vulture even before Harry's untimely death. Harry was frustrated with himself that, in his adamant pursuit of Peter, this had gone nearly unnoticed.

That would have to change now. For the first time since his 'death' he could feel the weight of the company resettling on his shoulders; and it would have been a lie to say that he enjoyed it. Things had been doing steadily downhill ever since the incident with Octavius and his determination to keep the company was not only ineffectual, but also at odds with his actual desires.

Even being a billionaire, it seemed, couldn't buy Harry Osborn a normal, or even a happy, life.

Mary Jane was beginning to nod off, but Peter noticed Harry's disquiet. He left the armchair where he'd been sitting and came over the the couch where Harry was sprawled, his arms flung wide. Though he hadn't thought about it much, Harry had missed human contact - he had been cold and untouched for over a month, after all - and it was pleasant to feel another living body near him.

"You looked exhausted Harry. Are you gonna be alright?"

Harry sighed.

"I guess. It's just... it's really too much to think about. All this happen with me, the company going under, whatever we might find out about my father - everything really." He looked at Peter and smiled, sincerely. "I'm glad you're here now, though. You and MJ both. It was hell trying to make it without you guys and I'm glad I don't have to."

"I'm just glad to get my best friend back," Peter clapped him on the shoulder. "When you died, it was awful, worse even than Uncle Ben, because I asked you to come along, purposefully put you in danger. And it's just good to know I didn't screw things up forever."

"It's fine; I didn't mind, I would have wanted you to ask. I wouldn't have done anything different. And - Peter?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you, I mean..." Harry started to blush.

"What is it?"

"Would you mind if we did that again? The team thing?"

Peter looked at him, startled.

"After all that happened, you'd still want to put yourself at risk?"

"I know it's dangerous; but it turned out well enough. And it just felt - I don't know. Wonderful, really. Being up there, fighting, all that adrenaline, being with you, knowing I was helping and doing some good for somebody for once in my worthless life.

"To tell you the truth, Pete, I was always jealous of your life; you had the existence I'd always wanted. Smart, good family, got to go to college without worrying about a company... and I know you have a lot of responsibility as Spider-Man. But it's not the same. You get to have fun with what you do, get to enjoy yourself and be free and reckless. I just sit in board meetings all day with a bunch of greedy vipers looking to make a buck." His expression was sour and he went and poured himself a rum and coke before sitting back down.

"When I joined you up there it was like being a part of that life. And it was better because it was with you, like we knew everything about each other, could trust each other infinitely again. Being friends is one thing, but fighting together? It was something totally new; we could depend on each other and matter and - well, I guess what I'm saying is, would you mind if I teamed up with you. Helped you out."

For a moment, Peter was speechless.

"Wow, Harry. I... I never thought you'd want to. I mean, with your injury and the whole 'Goblin' thing and everything." He paused and looked out the window. "But it is a big city; and it's hard to cover it all sometimes. I mean, yeah, there are other people; but most of the time I'm the only one taking care of things at the street level, the stuff people run into everyday."

"I take it you're referring to those jackasses at the Baxter building?"

Peter nodded.

"Unless the sun's about to explode or the planet is freezing over or something equally ridiculous, they just stay shut up in that place or go around showboating. They don't bother with muggers and 'petty' things. There's some guy over in Hell's Kitchen but that's about it. And I'll admit, even I sometimes get in over my head."

Harry took another sip of his drink and watched Peter carefully.

"So I guess - yes?" He smiled. "It'd be nice to have somebody to back me up, somebody to talk to about all of this stuff. Just remember, though - it's not a game. It's a serious undertaking."

"No need to tell me that; I think I know better than anybody," Harry said ruefully, draining the glass. "I know how seriously you take it, and I'm going to do my best to match that."

"If I'd have said no...?"

"I'd would have probably just followed you around and shown up anyway," he shrugged. "Tried to help ineffectually until you let me in on things."

Peter laughed and Harry smiled when he did, moving imperceptibly closer to him.

"Oh, and Harry? Take my advice - before you get started, think up a name. Otherwise, Jonah's going to make one up for you and I guarantee it will be absolutely ridiculous."

They laughed together then quieted down; a beat passed and Harry's hand twitched on his glass. Then he stood up and put the glass aside, leaving it for the maid to clean up in the morning.

"I'm pretty beat tonight, though," Harry said. "And it looks like MJ is too. Why don't I wake her up and then we can all get some sleep - unless, of course, you have somewhere to be."

"I'll take the window if I need to," Peter said with a nod.

"No need; I'll leave the door to the roof open. OK?"

"Sounds good."

Walking over to MJ, Harry made a move to nudge her, then turned back to Peter.

"Oh, and Peter? Bernard is going to see about the exhumation in the next few days. I'll let you know when things are happening. But I figured you'd want to be there."

"Yeah. Definitely." Peter stood himself and headed towards the door, thinking he'd patrol just once before coming back. Harry had already gotten MJ up and was helping her out of the chair and down the hall.

As he swung from the roof across to another building, then another and another, Peter thought about the last half-hour. He was a bit nervous about Harry but the temptation of having help - willing help - overcame even his reservations about Harry getting hurt. Not all villains were Venom, after all, and Harry would learn and get better. Besides, if he struck out on his own he'd probably just get into more trouble.

It was unfortunate, though, that the specter of his father had to be brought up at the last. Until they raised the casket, they were both going to be uneasy; and even more so, he suspected, if their suspicions were confirmed. At least neither of them had to go it alone, though, if the worst did happen.

A siren from below called him out of his reverie and he swooped down. There was a fire and, predictably, more than one small child or elderly person was probably trapped inside.

In other words, it was business as usual.

_OOO_

Gwen Stacy reached over and turned the light out on her desk before changing into a nightgown. Peter had been missing so she'd been responsible for the entire lab and cleanup afterwards. And to make matters worse, she'd stumbled and smashed a few of the petri dishes that Doctor Connors had sitting in the back. She'd had to run to her next class, so she'd just left him a note, hoping he wouldn't be too angry.

Tomorrow would be better, though, she assured herself. As she drifted off, she couldn't help feeling a stab of annoyance at Peter, though, Peter who had used her and was now shirking his responsibilities so that even more fell on her.

In the darkness, something stirred near her backpack.

_OOO_

A/N: As you can see, while this story focuses primarily on Spider-Man there are references to the rest of the Marvel universe, namely the Fantastic Four, Iron Man and Daredevil. Most won't play a large role, though Tony might insofar as he causes problems for Harry. But in case you didn't catch the references, that's what's going on.

If you liked, please review. I'm open for comments, questions and suggestions - all of which are much appreciated. Including suggestions on what Harry might be called (Goblin being a bit too much like Norman). So let me know your thoughts, if you'd be so kind.


	4. Secrets, Kept and Told

_OOO_

When Peter finally returned to the penthouse, it was nearly three in the morning and he smelled of ash and sweat. Upon returning, he tried to enter quietly but the stairs beneath his feet creaked despite his efforts.

"Uh-wha?" A voice came from the room beyond the base of the stairs. Peter went down and found Harry sitting on the same couch he had been before, rubbing his eyes as he stood up.

"Harry? What are you still doing here?"

"Thought I'd wait," he said with a yawn. "Make sure that you got back OK. Weren't cut up or anything like that."

"Nah, it was fine. There was a fire but nothing I couldn't handle."

Harry smirked. "Of course not, _hero_."

Peter rolled his eyes in return. "Isn't it past your bedtime?"

"Very funny. I was actually trying to be nice for once - though now I'm wondering why I bothered." His voice was sarcastic but his face still held a smile.

"Because I'm just that charming?" Peter responded, peeling off the mask and gloves and tossing them aside. His hair was damp with sweat and was falling in his eyes, so he brushed it aside with a careless sweep. "What?"

"Hmm?"

"You were staring."

"Oh, nothing. Just wondering - do you come back that messy every night?"

"Pretty much. This isn't so bad, just dirt and sweat. The problem is when I get blood on stuff and have to explain it to people."

"Ah." A memory jogged. "So on Thanksgiving, when you had that cut on your arm..."

"Yeah." Peter flopped down on the coach and stretched his muscles; there were starting to get a bit sore from the night's exercise. "That's how your dad knew I was Spider-Man," he said quietly. "He gave me the cut so when he saw it again... he knew."

The silence returned again, so Harry quickly fished a clipboard with paper attached to it out from the couch cushions. "Here," he said, handing it to Peter. "I've been working on names. Tell me what you think."

"No problem," he said as he took the clipboard from Harry. "Keeping in mind I might not be the best person to give advice about this. I was going to name myself the Human Spider when I started out."

"You were? Then how'd you get the name Spider-Man?"

"Ringside wrestling announcer. Told me my name was dumb and came up with a different one on the spot."

"_Wrestling_ announcer?"

"It's kind of a long story."

"Oh."

"So let's see... nothing with 'Goblin' in the title, I noticed."

"I specifically avoided that one."

"I don't blame you. First up - the Green Hornet?"

"I got it from an old radio show. Thought it fit the whole bug schtick."

"Maybe." He laughed. "Absinthe?"

"What! It's green!"

"Yeah - a green _fairy_," Peter grinned.

"Stop that."

"Emarald Odonata?"

"From the scientific name for dragonfly."

"Still with the bugs? That's even worse. And people say I'm the geeky one."

"Hey! I'm trying!"

"Malachite?"

"As opposed to just plain 'green' or 'emerald' or something."

"It sounds like the name of a villain, not a hero."

"Doing my best Pete."

"OK, this one - Viridian. Another shade of green." He looked up from the list. "I like it."

"Do you think it needs anything at the end? The Viridian Viper or something?"

"Not all names have to be alliterative, you know. Personally I think it's good as is. If you think of something to add, though, go right ahead. It is your name after all."

"OK. I'll leave it for now. Not that I expect to be using it any time particularly soon." He looked over the list then over at Peter. "Why didn't I get a name after the whole Sandman-Venom debacle anyway?"

"Nobody really got to see you up close. I took your body back to Bernard after the fight was over and didn't release any of the pictures of you in the fight. Jameson was pretty annoyed about that but there wasn't anything he could really do. Everything was really hectic, so I don't think he suspected much, but he ranted for about an hour about incompetence and not being where I was supposed to be - never mind the fact that I had the only action shots in the city."

"Now that I know, it seems so obvious - it makes me wonder why nobody has suspected anything more about you being Spider-Man. I mean, it's obvious that you two have a particular relationship. But does anybody ever get suspicious?"

"Not so far. Well, Aunt May maybe; it sure seems like she knows sometimes. But as for anybody from a paper or something, no. Maybe I've just been lucky; but I think my appearance helps a bit. I mean, out of the outfit I don't really seem the type."

"Well I was shocked. For a lot of reasons. But now it just makes so much sense that I can't believe I didn't see it before. I can't believe I didn't figure out about my dad, either."

"Sometimes love makes us blind. We can know a lot about a person, but everybody keeps some secrets; and if we don't want to acknowledge those secrets, sometimes we purposefully ignore the painfully obvious." He locked eyes with Harry. "It's how we get by, especially if the truth scares us."

The room grew quiet and Harry felt his mouth grow dry. The kept looking at one another and he wondered why he hadn't bothered to break the gaze that had gone on far longer than it should have. Was Peter implying something about himself? Or was he saying something about Harry? Was he referring to the past or the present?

Or perhaps he was simply making a statement about people and trust in general.

"I hope I don't have to keep secrets from you guys, not anymore. Especially given how they've hurt all of us in the past," Harry said quietly.

Peter rested a hand on his friend's knee. "That's a nice dream. And I really hope we won't either." He removed his hand, warm and tingling where it had touched Harry's body, and stood. "For now though, I think I need sleep."

"Yeah, me too."

The heavy hush between them dissipated and they each left for their own rooms, leaving the list of names behind on the couch. Though they had been up much later, Mary Jane awoke the next morning to find Peter and Harry already awake and making muffins; she pitched in and made bacon and scrambled eggs to go with them as the three laughed and teased amongst themselves.

Afterwards they each parted for work and for school, promising one another to meet again soon.

_OOO_

His classes done for the day, Peter Parker sat in his small apartment, listening to the radio and trying to think of a way to tell his Aunt May that Harry wasn't dead after all without startling her to death. He called up Harry and expressed his concern, only to be assured that he was probably worrying needlessly.

"She's stronger than you give her credit for Pete," he said before agreeing to meet Peter at his place before going over to Aunt May's to tell her.

When Harry did step in, again after a warning by Peter, she seemed scarcely less happy to see him than Mary Jane had been. Her embrace was not quite as strong as MJ's or Peter's but it was fervent and long; when they finally broke apart, she offered to make 'her boys' a light snack that they gratefully accepted.

Over tea and cookies Harry gave her an abbreviated version of what had happened, the version that Bernard and he had been presenting to the public. Harry had gotten into an industrial accident but he hadn't actually died, just gone into a coma. They hadn't had him embalmed and the wake had been a closed coffin affair, so there hadn't been any opportunity for anybody to find out until he'd forcibly removed himself from his own grave.

She nodded and gave him a look, and Harry's mind went back to what Peter said about secrets, as well as what he suggested about her knowing more than she explicitly let on.

"So that's what happened."

"Well it's lovely to see you again, especially after all that mess," she said, patting his hand. "More tea?"

"Thank you."

On the way out, Peter turned to Harry.

"See what I mean? I think she knows; I mean, I can't see how she can't know."

"Then why don't you just tell her?"

"Because if she doesn't know - I don't want to shock her. And besides, if she knew, she would always be worrying about me. This keeps her from fretting."

"Is that really all it is?" Harry asked him skeptically, opening the driver's door of the Mercedes they had driven down in.

Peter got in and sighed. "No. I guess not. It's just - well, OK. Remember the black suit? The one that made me act, well, you know."

"Like you were running against me for 'world's most tremendous angsty jackass?'"

"Yeah. That one."

"How could I forget?" Harry jammed the key in the ignition. "You started wearing eyeliner when you were in that thing and I think it's the only time I've ever heard you mock anybody in my life."

"Don't remind me. Anyway, when I was wearing it, I did a lot of things I wasn't proud of. Really shameful things that I wouldn't want her to ever find out about. And right now the papers are singing my praises; but that's not how it always was. It was bad enough when I had to tell her about my role in Uncle Ben's death.

"I don't want her to be ashamed of me due to everything I do, or that people say I do, as Spider-Man."

"But it's part of who you are, Pete. You do those things, and it's you who does them whether you're in a costume or not. Aunt May loves you and I think she'd understand."

"She was upset when I told her about the thing with Uncle Ben..."

"She forgave you, though, didn't she? Of course she was upset; people get angry at least initially. The point is that she forgave you." He stopped at a light. "It's just like you and me. Remember that time I slapped you because I thought you were protecting Spider-Man? And yeah, I was even more furious when I found out about you being Spider-Man and everything with my father and me. And even though you pretended you weren't a lot of the time, at least until you got that suit on and spoke your mind, I know you were mad at me too.

"But after everything was said and done, we got through it. We're still best friends, right?"

"Well, what if I _had _murdered your father? If there weren't any circumstances? Just me being a terrible person."

"You wouldn't Pete. I know that now and I should have known then; that's not who you are. If you ever became something else entirely, then I don't know. But Peter Parker is the one I care about and I'm friends with him because of his personality, because he always tries to be the good guy even when it doesn't pay or ends up hurting him. We all have our bad days; but beneath it all you are a good person and that's the person that I befriended."

"Your dad didn't want you to know about him. That was the last thing he ever asked of me, to keep it from you."

"Didn't do much good, did it? And it goes to what I said before; he became something else. So even if I had known, in a way, it wasn't him I would have hated but what he became."

"What will you do if he's still around?" Peter asked quietly.

"My father is dead Pete. No matter what is or isn't in that grave, my father died when he stopped caring about anything apart from his own crazed ambitions. He loved me once and I cared about him. But whatever he used - it sent him over the edge and nearly sent me there as well.

"Even though I don't anymore, I used to hear him from time to time, you know, telling me how you had betrayed me and demanding your blood in revenge. What I wanted didn't matter; the truth of the situation didn't matter; the lives of others around him or around me didn't matter. Nothing but his own ego mattered. And it wasn't enough that he lived his last days like that; he wanted me to live mine like that, following his monstrous footsteps."

"Are you sure it wasn't just the formula inducing those visions?"

"It might have been; but I'm not so sure that wasn't an accurate reflection of his frame of mind. You remember how he acted when I was dating MJ. It was the same thing, always trying to convince me that the people who cared about me were really against me and that I should be selfish in what I did."

"You know, Harry, if he did survive somehow - are you going to be all right? I know you can express confidence now; but if it comes down to it, do you think you can kill your father? Or at least a monster who looks and sounds like him?"

Harry parked the vehicle in front of Peter's building and turned towards him, his smile crinkling the scars on his face.

"That's why I'll have you, buddy, to back me up and remind me of what I need to do."

Peter smiled back and then left the car, running up the steps to his apartment. He turned briefly and waved goodbye to Harry as he pulled away, then went inside to get ready for a date with Mary Jane later that evening.

_OOO_

A/N: Many thanks go to all those who made recommendations, and credit to Churnok whose 'what if' named Harry The Green Hornet. Next chapter should have some action as well as perspectives beyond those of Peter and Harry. I hoep you enjoyed and if you would leave any thoughts you have in a review, I would be most grateful.


	5. A Game of Give and Take

_OOO_

Mary Jane arrived at the restaurant to find Peter already waiting; it wasn't as expensive as the one where his disastrous attempt at proposing had occurred, but looking around at the place she realized that it was still probably more than he was able to afford. She sat down at the table the head waiter ushered her to and gave him a smile.

"Hey MJ. How was work?"

"The same as ever," she replied with a shrug, taking a sip of the water that was already on the table and reaching for the bread. "It's good for now but nothing new has come up."

Still unsure of how to react to her continued frustration, Peter simply nodded and looked down at his plate. Mary Jane cast her eyes about the room looking at the decorations for a moment, then began nibbling on the bread, picking it apart as she did. Feeling that she ought to break the silence, she looked back at Peter.

"And what about you? College still going well?"

"Yeah; we had midterms a couple weeks ago so there isn't anything to do for a while. Which is good; it gives me time to focus on, well... you know. Other things."

She nodded; she knew all too well.

"How's Harry doing?" She started in on a second piece of bread. "Have you seen him since earlier today?"

He nodded. "We went over to let Aunt May know about everything."

"How did she take it?"

"Surprisingly well; I was a lot more worried about it than Harry was. But she really took it all in stride."

"Do you know for sure if she knows?"

Sighing, he shook his head 'no.' "Still just hints, no affirmation one way or another."

"You should tell her, you know. It's hard to know all of you without knowing that; it's like you're always hiding something."

"That's what Harry said, that I should tell her."

"Well maybe Harry's right."

The waiter interrupted them at that point to get their orders for dinner; MJ allowed Peter to go first, having failed to even scan the menu once she sat down, and ended up ordering a chicken dish which she despairingly thought would be terrible for her figure. As soon as he left, she resumed.

"I know you want to protect everybody; but don't you think those nearest to you have the right to know?"

"I just don't want to put them in danger, MJ," he protested. "No more than I have to."

"I really don't see how your Aunt knowing puts her in danger. It isn't as though she's going to run off and start telling people, especially not your enemies. If you told her to keep it a secret she would."

"It's not that easy, MJ!" He frowned. "You just don't understand."

"Then help me to understand, Peter!" Her voice escalated slightly before she calmed herself down. "You make it so difficult for me to be a part of that side of your life; yet you spend more and more time on that side!"

"It's what I have to do, I explained that much at least. It's my _responsibility _MJ."

"What about your responsibilities to _me_?" She frowned.

"I'm doing the best I can," he sighed in weary protest. "Really, I am. And as for Aunt May - it's complicated."

"Ask yourself Peter," she snapped. "Is it an issue with her or is it an issue with _you_? Because I don't see a difference between her and me when it comes to this and I know that I would want to know. That I'd feel deceived if the boy I raised and loved kept something like that for me, even if it was for the 'right' reasons." She paused to drain her glass. "And as for doing the best you can - I'm not sure that's enough Peter." A pause. "I'm sorry."

Peter slumped forward, his head in his hands.

"Aunt May said the same thing, you know. Gave me a whole speech about a man having to put his wife first. I told her, assured her that I could do that." He frowned. "Now, with everything that's happened lately, I'm not so sure."

"You must think I'm terrible selfish," she said as salads were set in front of them. With more fervor than was perhaps necessary, she stabbed the lettuce with her fork. "That I want it to be all about me and don't realize the gravity of your responsibilities. That I don't know how to made sacrifices."

"I don't; really, I don't. You only want what's reasonable for a wife to expect..."

"Really?" She chewed the lettuce and swallowed before continuing. "What's reasonable? There are women out there with soldiers for husbands who don't see them for months at a time; and I know I couldn't do that. Women with policemen and firemen and EMTs for husbands who leave them at odd hours to go and save other people. Women who have to raise children alone, live alone, find support and comfort alone all so that their husbands can do a job that's important to them.

"And when I ask my self if I could live through that, exist day to day with the uncertainty of you never coming home or leaving at odd times - I'd like to answer yes. But every time I find myself persistently alone and annoyed that I am, I doubt the truth of that answer. I want someone who will be there for me."

"Isn't that what everybody wants?"

"I suppose; it becomes a question of 'at what expense.'" She filled the glass again using the pitcher on the table. "And he's going to be just like that now, isn't he?"

"Who'll be like what?"

"Harry. You know what I mean. Seeing you two together up there, regardless of the danger you looked like you were having the time of your lives. Like you were back in high school or something and were the stars of the football team."

"Basketball," he corrected without thinking about it. She gave him a quizzical look. "Basketball was the only sport Harry and I ever tried out for." He chuckled. "We both sucked at it pretty badly."

"Whatever," she shrugged impatiently. "The point is that now that you're both on the same level, or whatever you'd like to call it, it will be just the same with him as it is with you. Leaving at all hours, never being there, never wanting to talk about the real severity of the danger..."

"MJ, I thought you said that the whole kiss with Harry was a mistake," he said quietly, studying her face.

"I'm not saying that it wasn't. I'm just saying that no matter what, it won't be like it was before. And I shouldn't expect it to be; but even so, I can't help feeling like I come out on the short end on this one. Even if we weren't going to be romantic, it was nice to have somebody to talk to. And now you get a friend to go palling around with, beating up the bad guys, and I have one more person to worry about while I sit at home!"

Peter fell silent and watched her eat. He bit his lower lip, trying desperately to think of something reassuring to say, to contradict her assertions. He wanted to tell her, as he had his Aunt, that he could put her first and that whatever fun he had with Harry or whatever responsibilities arose would not diminish the nature of their relationship.

Any thoughts that came to mind, however, seemed flimsy and false. So instead they lapsed into silence until the main course came.

"I'm sorry," MJ said as she cut into the chicken. "I'm not being fair. I can't expect you to live your life the way I want and to only have fun when I say so." She took a bite and shrugged. "Maybe I just need to get out more, connect with some female friends of my own. Have a life outside of you two."

Not wanting to say anything that might worsen the situation, Peter simply nodded.

"I mean, I haven't really gotten to know people at any of the jobs I've held and most friendships I had in high school have lapsed. If I have other people to talk to, maybe that will improve things between us. I won't be so dependent, won't blame you for always being absent when I really shouldn't expect you to be there."

"Are there any you know at the jazz club?"

"A couple; I haven't put much effort into it but I suppose I ought to. And I can always call up the one or two I've kept in touch with from high school and seeing about renewing those. Liz Allen, maybe."

Peter nodded again and the rest of the conversation devolved into small talk as they finished their food. Neither felt much like dessert so they mutually agreed to call it an evening, though Peter called a cab and saw it to that Mary Jane got home at least. Once she had left he told the cab driver to let him out as well, that he didn't live far away. It was a lie, but he didn't want to pay to ride home the rest of the way, especially when he should be out patrolling.

After a quick change in an alley, he took to the air, trying to forget about the general unease of the evening. It was a quiet night, to Peter's disappointment for once, as he wished something would happen - not something major, just something distracting - that could take his mind off things. He stopped on the top of a bank building to catch his breath and looked out over the city; briefly, he was tempted to swing by Harry's, but decided to turn back to his own apartment instead.

He needed to study, after all; and Harry probably needed some time alone anyway.

_OOO_

After Peter left Harry had gone back to his house and began ploughing his way through the mountain of paperwork Bernard had set out for him. A few hours elapsed before he found himself exhausted and left the desk and the study for the rarely-used library. On a whim he grabbed a book and found it to be a volume of Shakespeare; he struggled with the first few poems but managed to work his way up to the twentieth when Bernard interrupted.

"Sir? There's a May Parker here to see you."

The book fell from Harry's hands and he suddenly broke into a smile at the unexpected visit. "Show her up," he directed the butler enthusiastically, scooping up the book he'd dropped as he stood. "Did she say why she dropped by?"

"Apparently she comes bearing a cake of some sort," he said, giving Harry a wink.

Harry rushed around the parlor, trying to straighten everything up and managed to toss the last throw over a chair as she entered. She held a plate with a large piece of foil over it and handed it to Harry.

"Here," she smiled. "It's red velvet with cream cheese icing. I thought you might need a little something, you're probably so tired and overworked..."

"Thank you," he said, setting the cake down and giving her a quick hug. "Please, come in."

They sat down and Bernard came in soon after with coffee and utensils for the cake. Harry allowed her to set the pace of the conversation, unsure of what Peter had or had not told her and not wanting to step on any toes. She spoke at length about Peter and Harry did nothing to stem the tied of auntly affection; he was desperately interested to know what had been going on with Peter during the times he was dropping in and out of the other boy's life but didn't want to seem like he was grilling Peter each time they met.

"Sounds like Pete's been busy," he said, taking a tip of coffee and picking up his plate of cake. "He always seems so harried; I wish I could do something, help him out with that apartment of his for instance. From what I understand it's a bit of a wreck."

"Well, Peter does have a bit of a hard time accepting help. I notice you haven't done much to this place," May remarked.

Harry cut himself another piece of cake with a frown. "I know. It's just - well, it's hard. There's so much of my father in this place; it's hard to decide what should stay and what should go. What I could do with it."

"As sad as it is that Norman has moved on, you are your own person now Harry," she gently reminded. "Perhaps a new place to live? Or maybe having someone else here to help you redecorate. Give the place a bit of a lighter touch."

A short laugh escaped his lips.

"Someone else? That doesn't seem likely; I've been so... wrapped up the last few years and I have so much left to do I barely see anybody outside of MJ and Pete. I'm surprised I even remember how to talk to girls."

"You shouldn't be so pessimistic," she chided. "Who knows; perhaps the right one is closer than you think."

He flinched under her knowing smile and finished off the cake and coffee as rapidly as he could. They exchanged a few more pleasantries before he offered to driver her home. She accepted and he let Bernard know that he would be going out briefly, to which the butler nodded as he started picking up the plates.

"She's a grand old lady, isn't she?" Harry said when he returned from dropping her off.

"That she is," Bernard concurred. "Indeed."

_OOO_

A/N: Thanks to all who have provided feedback - and a slight shout out goes to Iriel who spotted the "Malachite" reference. I hope you enjoyed and would like to assure all reading that there will be action fairly soon. Updates might be slower, however, as my access to a computer will be limited over the next few weeks. And as always, reviews are very welcome.


	6. Causes for Concern

_OOO_

When Peter reappeared in his class, it didn't take much for Dr. Connors to realize that something was wrong. He seemed sleepy and dazed, failing to answer even simple questions; either Gwen Stacy answered or the class fell silent for embarrassing periods of time. At the end of the lesson, the professor approached him.

"Hey, Dr. Connors," Peter managed a half-hearted greeting.

"Hello Peter. I noticed that you weren't in class the other day. Is everything all right?" He tried to control the level of concern in his voice; Peter was, after all, a college student and some skipped more often than not. If it had just been the incident of one day he wouldn't have been to worried, but around Peter, incidents seemed to pile up even when every indication the boy gave was one of studious normalcy.

"Yeah, it's fine. I just had to help out a friend get back on his feet."

Connors quirked an eyebrow.

"Friend? Surely you don't mean... that Osborn fellow?"

Peter stiffened at the name shared by both Harry and Norman.

"His name's Harry," he told the professor quietly.

"Of course it is. I didn't know that you knew him personally."

"We were friends back in high school. Things hit a rough patch and then he was in that accident; but I'm glad I can be there for him."

"I see. Well I can certainly understand that; I was just a bit concerned about your lack of energy of late. Is there anything else?"

For a moment, Peter considered shrugging the questions off like he had to most others. But with so many of the people he knew too close to the problem to talk about it comfortably, and with the one confidant he had outside of his normally small circle dead at the bottom of the river, he conceded, sitting down into a chair in the first row.

"Have you ever gotten really far into a relationship - like, _proposal _far - and then realized that maybe it was all based on infatuation from the start?"

Connors face evidenced his surprise.

"I didn't know you were so deep into a relationship. Not that it was ever any of my business. But why, after so long as you seem to imply, would you suddenly decide that it was all infatuation?"

"Isn't that what it is, when you only like a person because she's pretty or she's nice? When you only date someone because you've maintained some sort of rose-colored ideal about her? I mean, if she can't really understand you or the things you go through or put up with quirks..."

"I'm sure you've heard what I'm about to say before, Parker. But good relationships take time; they don't just materialize after a few dates. Do you think the difficulties are something you can work out?"

"I used to. I used to think that the difficulties were mostly external. And when they weren't, that was the line I used - that relationships take work and that if we put enough effort into it things would work out. But now it seems like the problems are with us, not with everybody else, and those problems aren't working out by simply talking about them. That we just have different priorities in life. And we can't really reconcile those. I mean, I _thought _I loved her. But choosing between her and - and other stuff, well, I'd probably choose the other stuff."

"If that's the case, keeping in mind that I'm no relationship expert and you should take any advice I give you with a grain of salt, I would say that perhaps you should rely on your instincts. Better to realize now that there are fundamental conflicts between the way you two want to live your lives than to end up rushing into a marriage that ends with a messy divorce. As one who is married, let me say this: you should look for a real lifelong companion, a best friend that you can share things with and not just someone attractive with whom you enjoy having, you know. Relations ."

Peter nodded, blushing just a bit, and again the doctor could see his frame slumping, as if he hadn't slept in several weeks.

"By the way Parker," he tried to conversationally change the subject, "not to worry you too much about something that is probably of no concern, but do you remember that sample you gave me? Of that symbiotically acting goo?"

His spider-sense flared up and a sense of dread permeated him for a moment. "Yeah, I remember. What about it?"

"I'm afraid that the sample you gave me was lost. A student accidentally broke a few petri dishes I had in the back the other day and when I looked to assess the damage, the sample was gone. It's probably too small to do anything, but I thought you should know in case you wanted it back or wondered if I had done anything else with it."

Somehow Peter managed to find his voice.

"No," he said dully, "It's fine. I didn't need it back. It was so small, it's probably dead by now anyway."

He didn't believe that, anymore than he believed that Norman Osborn was mouldering in his grave. It didn't do to worry people, however. It was just one more circumstance for Spider-Man to stress about in private while everybody else went on with the business of their lives.

"I hope things work out for you Peter," Connors' voice came interrupting his brief reverie. "But before you decide anything, might I suggest you get some rest? You look like you need it."

Peter nodded mutely and shuffled out the door; hopefully that portion of symbiote was too small to do anything, but he would have to keep an eye out just in case.

_OOO_

The green suit, dutifully repaired by Bernard, fit Harry as well as he'd remembered, though it seemed somewhat cumbersome at first. The Sky Stick was even more awkward to become reacclimated with. Harry fell off of it the first four times he tried, but each time he gritted his teeth and remounted, no matter how sore his muscles were.

He needed to be in top form if he wanted to help Peter instead of being a burden and distraction. So he worked until he was too exhausted to stand. When this finally happened, Bernard gave his master and charge a fond smile and helped him limp out of the room and onto his bed.

With the flick of a button, the mask came off and Harry turned towards the butler who was putting away the rest of the equipment.

"How am I doing?" He huffed.

"Well enough for now; I daresay you will improve with practice, in the training room as well as in real life."

Harry nodded then roused himself; he wanted to sleep but the outfit was uncomfortable. Forcing himself to change out of the lightly armored flight suit and into pyjamas, he returned to the king sized bed and fell down on it, sinking into the pillows and drifting off into sleep.

The butler took the discarded suit and replaced it on its hanger, being careful not to disturb anything else in the room. One day it might be emptied but that was Harry's decision to make, not his. For the moment he simply put things back into their proper order, first in the hidden room and then in the rest of the house, humming an old Tommy James tune as he worked.

The sound of the phone ringing disrupted his ordered activity but he smiled when he heard the voice on the other end.

"He is resting at the moment, Master Parker, but if you come over in a couple hours or so, I venture to say that the visit will not be unwelcome."

_OOO_

Peter hung up the phone and had barely reached the door when he heard the unmistakably stumbling footsteps of Ursula behind him. He turned around and did his best to be polite.

"Hey Ursula," he smiled, giving her a weak wave.

"Peter," she asked timidly, shuffling her feet. "Peter I wanted to ask, about the other night - that boy, with the wide brown eyes, he is doing all right, yes?"

Despite all the worries that swirled in his mind regarding Harry, Peter managed to widen his smile.

"For now, yes. He's okay for now."

Relief washed over her face and Ursula bounded off into her father's apartment, pigtails flapping.

Entering his apartment like he'd intended, Peter too decided it would be best if he took a quick nap before heading off to Harry's. They needed to discuss a number of issues, but they were both clearly tired out. He was a bit embarrassed that Dr. Connors had noticed.

His mind falling to thoughts of Dr. Connors, he pushed aside the symbiote issue for a moment to consider what else the professor had said. MJ needed to be more than beautiful; she needed to be understanding, a companion. Even with the support of the city, there were times he needed more than her increasingly reluctant 'Go get 'em Tigers'; he needed somebody who could comprehend what he went through and whom he could sympathize in return. At the moment, it was becoming increasingly clear that she wasn't that person. Her own worries tended to consume her and she wanted someone to lean on rather than someone she had to prop up and support. Even when he could support her, she seemed to shy away from his attempts to cheer her up. After all, he would have tried if she'd told him that she'd lost her job; but she'd told Harry instead of him. Was it any wonder he couldn't say what she needed to hear when she left him in the dark?

It wasn't really fair to either of them, Peter thought, to drag out the relationship like they were. She could be looking for someone she cared about. And he... and he what?

_I could at least save money on dinner_, he thought with a hint of sarcasm.

He supposed he ought to see if her plan to connect with her friends worked. They'd both invested so much time in the relationship that it was worth at least this last shot to save it. Perhaps he was just being too pessimistic and their issues were truly momentary; and whatever his decision would be, he could see the wisdom in Dr. Connors' recommendation to get some sleep before he made one.

With the amount of sleep he'd had of late, Peter was surprised he was functioning at all, to say nothing of coherency.

_OOO_

As soon as Harry woke up, Bernard let him know that Peter was coming over. A look of anxiety immediately crossed his face.

"Seriously? Why didn't you tell me sooner?" He gasped, springing from the bed.

"I thought it prudent to let you sleep, sir. You looked like you needed it."

"Yeah, but I went to sleep smelling disgusting," he grumbled. "I can't greet Pete like this."

The butler doubted that the Parker boy would mind, but when his master was determined to do something there was only so much he could do to sway the boy.

"Would you like me to set anything out for you sir?"

"A fresh shirt," Harry's voice came from out of the bathroom, accompanied by the sound of running water. "Clean everything, in fact. Not too fancy, just casual. But clean, OK?"

"As you wish, sir," Bernard acknowledged. Then, as he turned, muttered beneath his breath, "But perhaps I shouldn't be the one saying that."

Inside the shower, surrounded by the white noise of the pounding water, Harry could not hear him; nor would he have if the shower had been silent. As he lathered himself, he became lost in thought as he loofah and hands ran over the prominent scars on his chest. Though the damage had seemingly been repaired, these had not disappeared nor had the marks on his face softened any further. Perhaps there was a limit to what the formula could do, at least without further doses; even then it might not help if the tissue was too set in its damage.

He wondered what the scars would look like to his friends. No matter what their private thoughts might be, he doubted that either would ever call him ugly with any measure of sincerity. Even if Peter teased, it was only because he could see beyond it and an aesthetic lack was no issue between them. Would they remind them of bad times, though? Each scar contained a memory of some past pain; and not all were inflicted by Venom. Some were signs of sacrifice, possibly failure - for he knew how hard Peter had taken his passing. Others, however, were reminders of agression and an obsession that they would both rather leave buried.

His face was the most prominent such sign; but there were others as well. Perhaps it would depend upon the mood when seen. He mused for a moment about what Peter's scars looked like, for surely he had some as well. Then he frowned and shook his head. He was no more likely to see such scars than Peter was to see his. Only when they swam would such marks be visible, so why worry about it? His body should not be a source of anxiety. And even if it was scarred, there were plenty of people who thought scars were alluring. Besides, his muscular build more than made up for however unseemly his scars might be.

Gritting his teeth, Harry scrubbed his skin then shampooed his hair, perturbed by the direction his thoughts had taken. His attractiveness when naked was nothing he needed to worry about, not when there was a moutain of practical concerns facing him. He needed to learn so much more than his brief, venegeful bent had taught him about fighting. As for Norman - he postponed the thought again. Bernard had let him know that all of the paperwork had been prepared for an exhumation in two days and he didn't want to think too much before then.

He came out of the shower wrapped in a towel to find his bed freshly made up and the clothes sitting atop the clean sheets. He pulled them on, enjoying the feeling of the light fabrics against his clean skin. Checking his room's clock, he knew Peter would be there soon, so he worked rapidly to style and dry his hair. He reached for a bottle of aftershave then stopped. Peter never did care much for scents, even less so now that his senses were heightened in general.

Leaving the bottle on the shelf, he went out to the parlor to wait for Peter to arrive.

_OOO_

A/N: Not much this chapter, save for a big thanks to those who have reviewed, favorited and alerted. :) Thanks for the encouragement.


	7. Flight and Fight

_OOO_

When Peter awoke from a nap that was longer than he felt it should have been but too short to leave him truly rested, he considered what he would need to visit Harry. Still groggy from sleep he turned off the police radio that he kept in his room and stuffed it into his backpack to bring with him. He tossed in his spare Spider-Man suit, besides the one he normally wore beneath his clothing, and glanced around the room trying to decide if there was anything else he needed. When he realized that there really wasn't anything else involved in the process, he blushed a bit; Harry's outfit and accoutrements were so blatantly high-tech that he felt a bit embarrassed about his operation being so low-key.

Once he was ready, he shrugged the pack onto his shoulders and began fighting with the ever-stubborn door. After a significant amount of jiggling and tugging, it finally scraped open, leaving splinters on the floor in its wake. Peter shut it as best he could behind him and went down the steps, having resolved to take the slower route to Harry's place; he didn't want to attract too much attention and given how sleepy he still was it might not be a good idea to go web-slinging, lest he fall in midair.

Fortunately his destination was only a brief ride away. Upon reaching it, because he was expected, Bernard let him in directly and he took the long elevator ride up to the penthouse. There were enough floors between the ground and the top that Peter caught himself nearly drifting off against the walls of the box. Shaking his head as the door opened with a ding, he turned towards the hallway and promptly stumbled into Harry.

"Whoa there," Harry managed to laugh as he caught his friend. "I'm right here pal."

Peter abruptly righted himself.

"Sorry about that. I'm just a bit tired," he explained and when he did his mouth involuntarily widened into a yawn. Harry gave him an indulgent smile.

"Why don't you come on in and rest on the couch for a bit?" He suggested. "Or I have a guest bedroom if you'd prefer something more comfortable."

"Nah," Peter protested with a wave of his hand. "I'm fine. I'll be okay. I just need to sit down for a bit."

Harry ushered him into one of the chairs, wondering why his chest felt so tight as he did. Peter fairly collapsed into the cushioned seat, gesturing towards the backpack that Harry had slid off of him before he'd sat down.

"My stuff's in there," he told Harry, his eyes half-closed. "All I really use is a spare suit and a police radio so I know what's going on in the city and where. Although usually I try to just patrol too, in case there's things that the police don't see or catch."

"A bit unsophisticated, don't you think?" Harry asked nonchalantly. Then he noticed Peter's blush. "I mean, I'm sorry. Not that you would have access to a lot more. Or that more would do any good. I mean, you can only handle so much at one, right, no matter how much you monitor. It gets the job done. Quite well." He stammered on, trying to rectify any sense of arrogance that might have been implied or conveyed.

Peter, however, barely noticed; despite his protestations, he was already falling asleep in the chair. While he watched through barely-open eyes, Harry turned the device over in his hands, turning it on with the twist of a knob. A crackling voice issued forth, speaking of some incident happening around 8th. Harry gave Peter a questioning look, but Peter shook his head 'no.'

"One of the few places that isn't mine," he mumbled. Before Harry could ask what _that _meant, Peter suddenly straightened up as though he'd gotten a sudden jolt and looked anxiously at Harry with wide eyes. "Oh! I forgot! Important thing Harry - the _most _important thing. No killing. None whatsoever. It's not how Spidey works; at least not red-and-blue Spidey," he corrected ruefully.

"None?" Harry frowned.

"I know it might seem like a naive approach; but trust me, it's better than getting on a slipperly slope and doing something you're going to regret. Even if it seems like someone's a terrible person - death is an extreme and it shouldn't be handled lightly." How he had gotten so worked up with no provocation mystified Harry and alarmed him a little.

"I wouldn't argue that it isn't. It just... well, why don't we have this conversation when you're a little more awake?" Harry suggested in dulcet tones and Peter nodded. Already settling back down into the pillows, his face soon relaxed into slumber and his mouth cracked open so that Harry could just hear his measured breathing. They still had a number of issues to discuss but it was clear Peter was unprepared to do so; he could wait, however. Taking a throw from the couch, he covered Peter, leaning over him in order to bring the blanket all the way up to the other boy's neck.

When he did, his hands began to shake unaccountably and he quickly dropped the fabric onto the sleeping figure and backed off; he needed to get a hold of himself. It was just Peter, nothing to be nervous about. Quite the opposite - he looked so calm and peaceful while asleep that Harry wished it was catching.

The minutes ticked by and Harry remained on the couch, sitting on the edge and mesmerized by the view of Peter sleeping. The sharp crackle of the still-on police box startled him out of his dreaming and he turned the volume down just slightly so that he could still hear it but it wouldn't disturb Peter. There was a heist happening at a local bank that was only a few streets over. There were, apparently, hostages involved and it seemed like precisely the type of event at which Spider-Man would be expected to make an appearance.

_Except he's zonked out in my penthouse_, Harry thought.

The inevitable idea followed soon after and a kind of manic excitement gripped his heart at the prospect. Of course, it would be risky to go out without Peter to guide or give advice. But he'd been pretty good against Sandman and Venom, hadn't he? Surely a few no-account thieves would be no issue. He hestitated for a moment or two, took a last glance at his reposing friend, then made for the mirror and his suit of armor. Ready in a minute or two, he climbed up onto the Sky Stick, threw the window open and took to the air.

Faithful as ever, Bernard came by moments later to shut the glass panels so that Peter wouldn't be in a draft.

_OOO_

Having been preoccupied the previous times he had gone out, Harry was pleasantly surprised at how exhilarating the view from above actually was. So much of his skin was covered that he didn't get to feel the breeze that brushed passed him and what he could feel was surprisingly cold. He was glad, however, that he didn't have a helmet on; he enjoyed the sensation of the wind rushing through his hair, even if it always did muss his gel-filled locks beyond any hope of combing.

Beneath his thick gloves his palms began to itch with sweat and he swallowed. He could see the bank and the lights of the police cruisers and he was swooping in fast. It was a make or break moment and he couldn't afford to screw up. In a flash he realized that this must be the kind of pulsing terror that shot through Peter each time he went to do a job, this rising fear that somebody would get hurt, that he would screw up, that the story would end unhappily and he would be responsible.

That thought was terrifying, moreso than any thought of physical danger to himself.

In another second he was upon the bank, however, and he didn't have time for any more self doubt as he was caught up in a whirlwind of action.

Turning the Sky Stick sideways, he dodged the policemen and burst through the doors, shattering the glass. Perhaps not the wisest course, but he wanted to get the drop on the men. The three gunmen were visible and he decided that the one holding a struggling female was the first priority. Keeping in mind, however reluctantly, what Peter had said about killing, he only slashed the man's arm - though he could have easily gone for the throat. The robber's hand convulsed and he let go of the gun which the woman promptly grabbed and trained on the other two men. Harry seized him by the other good arm and threw him into one of his compatriots, the momentum smashing them both into a wall.

There was a blast and he spun around to find that the woman had blasted out the knee of the third man. She was staring, dumbfounded at what she'd done, and Harry could have sworn; he should have handled the man before she'd felt compelled to take things into her own hands. Acting quickly he hefted the men up on his shoulders, brought them out and dumped them in front of the police who were circling the buildings. Already there was a crowd of civilians just beyond the police perimeter, pointing and talking amongst themselves.

"Is it him?"

"Where do you think Spider-Man is?"

"I saw him with Spider-Man!"

"What?"

"The night that sand-thing attacked..."

"Who do you think he is?"

"Was he there?"

"I think I saw him!"

A myriad of voices chattered around him, and he was suddenly aware that he was the center of attention. Once the police had cuffed the three robbers, he nodded to them then took to the air above the crowd. Their eyes followed him, pointing and gasping. He felt self-aware and a bit awkward, not only because he was the focus but also because they were wondering where Spider-Man was since another costumed personage had shown up in his stead. Harry didn't want to give them the wrong idea, as though he were replacing Peter.

"Spider-Man is recooperating," he said, unsure of how else to phrase it. "I'm Viridian."

It was one of the shortest public speeches he'd ever made and by far the most awkward. Leaving the still-buzzing crowd behind him he flew off, heading for his penthouse.

_OOO_

Peter woke to find himself alone and tangled in blankets. Throwing them aside, he looked around for Harry but couldn't find him anywhere. Noticing that the box was still on, he frowned and called for Bernard, asking where his host had disappeared to.

"I believe he went 'out' sir."

"Ah. And was he 'dressed' when he went out?"

"I believe so."

Peter unbuttoned his shirt to reveal the suit underneath and tugged on his mask with an exasperated sigh. Who knew what Harry would get up to, going out on his own? Not that there were any known supercriminals hanging around lately. Yet even so, Peter couldn't get the image of Harry's body, still in the alley, and that pushed him into action.

It wasn't that he didn't trust Harry or that he was particularly nervous or worried, he told himself. Harry was still recovering though, and he just wanted to be sure he was all right, like anybody would be worried.

That was all there was to it.

_OOO_

"I don't care WHAT he was doing!" J. Jonah Jameson chomped on his cigar then took it out again and gestured wildly. "They're both a couple of menaces - and now there's TWICE as many! I want this on the front page - Brant! Where the hell is Parker?"

"I'm not sure, sir."

"Brock?"

"Dead, sir."

"Well get me a photographer who isn't absent or dead! I want pictures of this... Vir... Vera... Green Dragonfly guy YESTERDAY!"

"Of course sir."

___OOO  
_

Now that the danger was past, Harry felt strangely elated, not because of the adrenaline rush from the fight but rather because now he could tell Peter that he'd beaten some bad guys all by himself, as if his victory were a metaphorically crayoned picture that he wanted Pete to stick on his fridge. There were some bumps involved, but all in all in felt rather proud of himself. He slowed down a bit when he was suddenly thrown by the appearance of a man dressed in red acrobatically swinging up beside him.

"Care to pull this thing over and have a talk?"

Harry landed on the nearest rooftop and stood face to face with a man dressed in red with a 'DD' blazoned on his chest.

"So. You're the new guy..."

_OOO_

A/N: Just a taste of action this time, but I hope it was written well. Next time there will be more Peter and Harry, plus another peek in on Gwen.


	8. A Bit of Advice

_OOO_

Peter swung easily from building to building but even that strenuous exercise couldn't relax him. What was Harry thinking, running off like that? Who knew what trouble he would find, or would find him, or what he might do if not properly supervised! He looked down onto the streets of New York but couldn't see anything that indicated a ruckus or anything that might have drawn him out. Looking around and up at the sky he couldn't see Harry flying either and wondered if he shouldn't return to the penthouse so that they wouldn't miss one another, like two ships passing in the night.

Swooping down to the police department he clung to the walls next to the back windows and listened for any news.

"... and then that guy from a few weeks back showed up, said Spidey was sick or somethin'..."

Beneath his mask, Peter flushed, realizing that Harry must have felt it necessary to come up with an excuse to explain his absence. He didn't want the city to think he was lying down on the job. The chance to sleep _had _been nice, though.

His information gained, Peter took off once more, scanning the skies for places Harry might be flying on patrol or might have landed. The business was done, but Peter was suddenly curious about how it went and wanted to hear the first account of it from Harry himself.

_OOO_

Taking a step back, Harry gave the man an appraising look. He was lithe and acrobatic in the way that Peter was but at the same time Harry could tell he was more solidly built. A billy club rested in his hand at his side and Harry noted that the eyes in his mask were not cut out, nor did they seem to be translucent like Peter's. Briefly wondering what that might signify, he suddenly bristled when he realized that the man in red was doing something of the same thing to him, focusing intently on his person as if trying to figure something out.

"Hey!" Harry snapped sharply. "Who do you think you are?"

"Calm down, kid," the man replied, clipping the club to a belt and holding his hands out. "Just thought I'd pull you over, see what was going on with you and Spider-Man, maybe give you a little free advice; not that I'd expect you to take it."

"Kid?!" Harry shot back, his ego slightly bruised. He was over twenty! He ran a company! He wasn't a _kid_.

"Well, yes. It's quite evident if one watches you two in action that you're both younger."

"And what gives you that impression?" Harry demanded, wondering why he'd bothered to stop.

"Several things. Spider-Man jokes around when he fights. Your physical builds, your stances, your choices of costume. The timbre of your voice - which by the way you might consider disguising if you don't already. Drop it slightly lower, that sort of alteration."

"I can decide what to do for myself," Harry retorted. The man in red sighed.

"Look. It seems I've given you the wrong impression. I'm not out to harass you or get on your case. The name's Daredevil - I normally handle things over in Hell's Kitchen." His words set off a familiar ring in Harry's mind - so this was the guy Peter had been talking about. "I was taking care of an incident over on 8th and when I was done I noticed you. You seemed a little - no offense - unpolished and I don't remember seeing you any time other than that fight with the girl in the cab. So I assumed that you were new and might appreciate a few words of wisdom."

"Well I don't need them; I already have somebody to help me out." He crossed his arms belligerently

"Spider-Man, I'm assuming?" Harry remained silent. "What is the nature of your relationship with him anyway?" His voice carried a tone of light curiosity.

"What makes you think I have a relationship with him?!" Murdock frowned; the boy's pulse had suddenly quickened even if his tone still carried the same sense of aggrivation.

"I should think that was obvious. You appeared with him, even fought next to him apparently. Then when you re-emerged you took time to explain why he wasn't with you. I find it a bit hard to believe that Spider-Man, despite his well-earned accolades, is up to taking on a novice. Given that, plus what I'm assuming is your relative closeness in age, and I would venture to say that you're a friend or cohort of his rather than a student."

The other's heartbeats began to slow down and Matthew could hear a slight sigh of relief escape the other's lips. What had made him so nervous? What did the boy think he meant by... _Oh_. Realization dawned upon Murdock and he tucked the information away for future reference. After all, he didn't know the precise nature of the relationship between them and without earning the boy's trust, he didn't have the right to speculate or make him feel uncomfortable.

"We're friends," Harry replied after a moment. "He... he got me into this hero business. I was kind of screwed up before. Things weren't going so well and I - well, let's just say I made a lot of really stupid decisions and he was there to hold out his hand and take me back when I was done being an idiot. I owe him a lot," he said urgently, suddenly feeling a wash of relief at being able to express his gratitude aloud, even if it wasn't to Peter himself. "I owe him _everything_. He's the best friend I ever had and if I didn't use the powers I, for lack of a better term, acquired, then I would be betraying him. He asked me to help once and I decided I want to fight next to him for always; that's all."

The boy's voice oozed an enthusiastic combination of ardent respect, hero worship, gratefulness and longing with just a hint of past pain in his inflections.

"I see." Murdock paused, wondering how he should continue. The boy's heart had sped back up and it was clear he felt a large measure of emotional agitation over Spider-Man. "Well, your technique isn't bad. I've watched you fly and you do that very well. Your hand to hand combat skills, however, need a bit of work. I'm sure Spider-Man can help you out a little, but even he could use some refinement. If you want, I could work with you some day, show you a few new techniques, maybe spar a little bit. I think it would help you a great deal."

Harry paused to consider; he had been a bit wary of the man at first, but it was good to see another hero and have somebody other than Peter that he could talk to, at least a little, about his concerns and worries. Extra training would be good too; he was ready to swallow his pride if it meant learning something that would keep him, or Peter, alive.

"That would be good, I think," he responded quietly, shuffling his feet. "How do I get in contact with you?"

"Here," Daredevil said, passing him a card that had a number on it. "Don't worry about calling it - it isn't traceable. And feel free to call it if you just need somebody to talk to as well. This can be a nasty business and I know there can be a lot of anxiety and uncertainty associated with it. Even I experience that from time to time."

Harry nodded; Peter's actions indicated a lot of the same and he was only beginning to imagine how hard it was to keep everything hidden from everybody. Luckily for him, most of the people he was closest to already knew. "Thanks," he murmured. "So tell me, why do you just stay in Hell's Kitchen? Why not cover the rest of New York?"

The other man grinned.

"Because they already have a hero. Besides, Hell's Kitchen is quite enough to take care of on its own. Some of us do have day jobs, you know."

"What..?!"

"Only teasing," he replied. "And now - I really must be off. It was good to meet you - Viridian, did you say your name was?"

"Yeah."

"Then I will see you around."

"Wait!" A thought suddenly crossed Harry's mind. "Do you kill?"

Daredevil shook his head 'no.' "Not if it can be prevented."

"But sometimes? If it was really necessary, if there was no other way?" His voice was anxious, as if he were looking for some sort of vindication.

"Like I said, I don't try to if it can be helped. But sometimes... well, you'll find out soon enough. Sometimes things just happen. And sometimes we all end up doing regrettable actions." His words echoed Peter's in Harry's mind. "Every now and again, you'll get into a bad situation with a real psycho and then - then you have to make your own decisions. When it comes down to it, as much as I hesitate to say this, impossible choices do present themselves and in those cases, no matter what you may feel afterwards, let me assure you that there are few who would offer you recrimination."

"I see."

"No, you don't. Not quite yet. But you will. Trust me - it's harder than it sounds. And with that, I wish you luck."

With that he unwound the cord secreted inside the club and took off across the rooftops. He disappeared amidst the buildings and Harry turned to get back on his Sky Stick when he heard the sound of labored breathing behind him.

"Harry!" Peter landed and rushed over to him. "Do you know how long I've been looking for you? Where have you been? How did things go?"

Harry laughed. "I had a visitor - that Daredevil guy decided to introduce himself."

"You met Daredevil?"

"Yep."

"Wow. Even I didn't get to meet him my first day on the job!"

"He was passing through I guess and decided to take advantage of the opportunity to talk to the city's newest, best hero."

Peter gave him a playful punch and Harry grinned as he climbed on to his glider.

"Need a ride?" He offered in a bemused tone.

"No thanks - I can take care of myself just fine!"

"In that case - race you!"

"Hey!"

The two took off, Harry then Peter, speeding across the sky in an effort to get back first.

_OOO_

Gwen didn't remember buying the red dress she saw hanging in her closet but she supposed she must have at some point; it wasn't the sort of dress her father would ever want to see her in, let alone buy for her as a present. On a whim, she pulled it on and found that it hugged all the right places, slimmed her down and accentuated her legs. It was as if it had been tailored just for her.

She smiled as she looked in the mirror; she really looked killer in it. Sliding on a pair of pumps and grabbing a purse she prepared to leave her apartment. She was supposed to be going to a chemistry study group.

On reflection, however, she decided she would rather go out. Digging through her purse she retrieved her cell phone and scoured the phone book for a few numbers. Half an hour later she and three girlfriends were in a downtown club and she was getting more attention than she'd ever had in her life.

It felt marvelous.

_OOO_

Upon their return, the two boys barreled through the window and would have broken it, had it not been for Bernard's foresight in leaving it open. Once they calmed down, they peeled off the costumes and settled down on the sofa. Peter listened to Harry's story, smiling as he embellished and making enthusiastic comments at all the right places, nodding him on. When it was done he clapped and grinned.

"Sounds like you had a fun time," he said.

"The best. Still wasn't as great as it was when I fought with you though."

"Well, that chance will come soon enough."

"Sirs?" Bernard suddenly interrupted. "Mr. Osborn, your lawyer is here to discuss the matter of reinstituting your 'live' status as well as to have you sign some paperwork dealing with the matter of your father's exhumation."

"Thank you Bernard." He turned towards Peter. "Do you mind..."

"Not at all."

"Then show him in, Bernard."

They waited a moment until Bernard reappeared with a man wearing dark glasses. He carried a red and white stick and it suddenly struck Harry: he was blind.

"Mr. Murdock, sir, of Murdock and Nelson," Bernard introduced him then left to go fetch coffee.

Matthew Murdock drew near and smiled as a familiar scent of soap, deodorant, gel and - oddly enough - earth hit his nostrils, a scent he'd smelled only an hour or so before. "Mr. Osborn," he said, unable to prevent a slight smile as he extended his hand.

"Hello. Good to have you here." Unsure of how exactly to go about handling the man's impairment, Harry clumsily thrust Peter in front of him as a way of introducing them. "And this is my friend Peter Parker. He's... helping me with some of these matters."

"Hey there," Peter said weakly.

Peter Parker? The photographer who took pictures of Spider-Man? Well then. Matters were beginning to make significantly more sense. Even their voices were the same, though not as muffled by the masks.

Without missing a beat, Matthew firmly gripped and shook Peter's hand.

It would be an interesting evening.

_OOO_

A/N: Once again, a minor cliffhanger. Also, just to make the distinction, Daredevil here is based off of the comics more than the movie. Also, once again a big thank you to all who have left such great reviews and have put this story on a fav. or alert list. You guys are the inspiration and encouragement that keeps me going. :)


	9. Matters of Trust and Truth

_OOO_

As the hours ticked by, Murdock reviewed a variety of concerns which Harry needed to address, financial, social and otherwise.

"You will need to have a doctor as well as another medical professional as witness sign these," Murdock said sliding a folder of papers over to Harry. "They are to verify your DNA and dental tests. You will also need to forward copies of these documents to any companies, such as credit cards, banks, credit bureaus and so forth, in the event that they have you listed as 'deceased.' We will have to invalidate your death certificate as well."

"I figured I would have to do that. What about the buyout? Is there anything I can do regarding that?"

"I have yet to examine the corporate particulars but since any actions were taken without you and you were - and are - a controlling force on the board, there will be grounds for reconsideration. Besides, talks were really only suggested; Stark has no serious claim over the company. He stated that he would make an offer but there is little more to it. Not that he might not persist. However, he cannot do anything just yet. My advice would be to take firm control and wait until he makes his next move."

Harry nodded and Matthew could hear Peter shift on the couch beside him. So far the boy hadn't done much more than sit there and come up with an occasional question; unlike his companion he seemed slightly nervous but this was not affected much by his proximity to the other man. When he was affected it was when Harry was further away; being near the wealthier boy seemed to calm him down, however slightly. Harry's pulse, however, pounded when Peter got too close and Murdock could detect subtle changes in his sweat output.

Both, however, grew perturbed as they ran out of other topics to discuss. The lawyer cleared his throat and moved on to the inevitable course of business that the evening was leading to.

"Now, about the exhumation," he said, sitting back. "I take it you have prepared the documents?" Harry nodded. "There is certainly nothing I can do to stop you then. However - are you certain the reason behind your desire to dig up the body is solid? I can understand your concern given what recently happened to you. Yet let me warn you, this can be an emotionally devastating experience, particularly if it is motivated by nothing more than irrational anxieties." He waited to see if an explanation was offered.

"I'm quite sure," Harry insisted. "I don't mind what the body might look like at this point; I want to be sure."

"Mr. Osborn..." Murdock sighed.

"Please, call me Harry."

"Very well then. Harry - I hate to dishonestly hold the upper hand. I am curious about the real reason you want to exhume your father so badly. You do not need to explain anything to me if you do not wish it. But I am questioning your motives, particularly given what I learned about you earlier."

"Earlier...?" Harry sounded puzzled.

"Tell me, Harry - what precisely does 'for lack of a better word, acquired' entail?" He frowned. "Keeping in mind that anything you tell me will be confidential. All I know is that normal men cannot throw other men into walls with shattering force and people don't simply wake up in their graves without cause. Does that have something to do with this?"

Harry dropped the glass he'd been holding, his heart rate accelerating.

"Harry?" Peter looked between them, confused. "What's the matter?"

"You!" He pointed at Murdock, flushing. "You're... I mean... but you... Daredevil?!" He stammered.

"So it would seem."

"But you - you're blind! You're a _lawyer_!"

"I'm not sure which one of those I should consider the greater insult. But I did tell you I had a day job."

"How, though... I didn't say anything!"

"Your scent. Although I'm blind, my other senses are heightened. The moment I walked in the room, particularly with the memory of our meeting fresh in my mind, I knew I was smelling the same person." He turned to Peter and gave him a knowing smile. "And you - the 'friend' he works so closely with - must be Spider-Man."

"Um..."

"Your secret is safe with me, Peter. I was fairly certain of your identity the moment I walked in here and I didn't have to let on that I knew. But I chose to let on that I knew and to reveal my secret to you. Does that not merit some measure of trust?"

"Well - yeah! So you're really Daredevil?" Peter's voice exuded excitement despite himself.

"The one and only."

"Wow! I'm so thrilled to finally meet you - I really admire what you've done with Hell's Kitchen."

"Why, thank you. Not as famous as you, though," Murdock replied, giving Peter another smile that made him blush.

"Oh, I do what I can. It's nice to be appreciated but it's not the reason I do it."

"Could we get back to the discussion at hand?" Harry moped, irate at being caught off guard and a little annoyed at Peter's excitement.

"Sorry about that, Harry," Peter apologized, sounding slightly chagrined.

"Of course."

"As for your question - yeah, it has to do with me. Pete and I thought that if I could heal and wake up later, we don't know whether or not he could. And I'm not saying he did for sure but that we thought it was best to check."

"Ah. Well, it's good to know there is a legitimate reason, then." He frowned. "But are you sure you're emotionally prepared if the grave is empty?"

Harry gave him a faint smile. "That's what Pete's here for, right buddy?" He turned to his friend and put his hand on his shoulder. "Emotional support."

There was that spike in heart rate again. It was actually rather adorable, how secretly nervous the otherwise cocky boy got.

"Well, I will be there as well for purposes of legal verification. Now that all the cards are on the table, however, I will be prepared for, shall we say, _other _eventualities as well."

"That's really nice of you to offer," Peter responded sincerely. Harry bit his lip in reluctance, but nodded as well.

"Yeah, I guess that will work," he sighed.

"Good. I'm glad we got so much done today." He stood, gathering papers into his briefcase. "And I do hope you'll take up my other offer as well."

"Can we workout together?" Peter asked.

"I'd be surprised if you didn't. Now as it is getting late, I'm afraid I must leave you two."

"I'll go down with you," Peter replied. "I should be getting home too - breakfast with MJ in the morning before class," he sighed, "Bright and early."

"MJ?"

"Pete's girlfriend," Harry responded in a tone kept deliberately neutral.

Years of practice as a lawyer allowed Murdock to keep his face carefully blank. So Peter had a girlfriend and _was_, in fact, just visiting. Well that could complicated things.

"I see. Very well then - come. Let's take the elevator."

Harry saw them to the door, shaking Matthew's hand and give Pete a brief, awkward semi-embrace as they left before retreating to his room.

Pressing the button for the ground floor, Matthew waited in silence for a moment before casually turning to Peter.

"So you two are prepared to work together?"

"Oh, definitely." Peter's voice held no hesitation. "We've done it before, after all."

"And you're not at all afraid that this might cause friction between you two? Jealousy or anything like that if one gets more attention than the other, that sort of thing?"

"No way. We got all that done and over with."

"What do you mean?"

"You know his face? Well. I mean, I guess you don't. Being as you can see it." Peter scuffed the carpet with his toe. "But it's scarred. Badly." His voice was somber and heavy. "And I'm the one who did it. We had some fights, had our differences. MJ got between us on occasion. But all that's out of the way and we understand each other now."

"You're that close?"

He nodded firmly.

"Harry's like my brother. _Is _my brother." His voice sounded half-way between conviction and an attempt to convince.

"I see. And you aren't worried that fighting together will change things?"

"It might make us closer," Peter said as the elevator dinged and the doors opened. "But I don't see how that's a bad thing."

_'You wouldn't, would you,' _the veteran of more than one 'work-related' relationship thought.

"Just a note of caution. Sometimes it sounds like a good idea to partner with friends; and I'm not saying that it never works out. However, for those who are used to independently operating it can be a significant change."

"I know; we're ready to work on it though. And honestly, ever since Harry came back, I couldn't imagine doing it without him." He smiled serenly, taking a deep breath of the cold night air as they stepped out of the glass doors of the complex.

Murdock nodded, then offered to pay for the cab. Peter hesitated, but agreed, allowing it to drop him off at his apartment before taking Matthew back to his brownstone. The older man wondered briefly if Peter would be patrolling that night, and considered the boy and his companion as he prepared for bed - what little sleep there was to be had before rising early to face the daily grind.

Those two were certainly an interesting pair. Brash and enthusiastic, they could use a hand to guide them. He had to admit, he was a bit worried about where they might end up emotionally, given the difficulties unreciprocated - or even returned - affection could present. It always threw a wrench into things. They seemed like good kids, though, and he hoped things turned out well for them. Lowering himself into the sensory deprivation tank he slept in, he allowed his thoughts to drift to his own often ill-fated romantic liasons before drifting off altogether.

_OOO_

Alone in his apartment, Harry tossed and turned in his too-large bed that sat in the darkness of his too-empty penthouse. He was nervous; however, the more time passed, the more he wondered whether he could attribute all of it to the imminent raising of his father's coffin. Something else had changed too, something he wasn't certain he wanted to put his finger on. Every time he was around Peter...

He was so worried, lately. Worried that Peter wasn't getting enough sleep, that he was pushing himself too hard, that he was in constant danger, that he was unhappy. Harry wanted Peter to be happy, he told himself; he really did. So why did he feel annoyed at the thought of him so desperately trying to patch things up with Mary Jane? Because he could see what Peter couldn't, that that ship had sailed? He didn't want Peter to get hurt, was all. And if he kept at it, ploughing on with a relationship that was going, and could only go, nowhere, that's what was going to happen, his mind insisted.

Then what of Daredevil? Why did Peter's open admiration grate on his nerves? It was only to be expected; Peter had been active in the superhero community a lot longer than Harry had and Daredevil was probably the closest one to Peter's methods. There was no reason for Peter not to admire him, one professional to another.

The answer, he suspected, lay in his upbringing; weathy and spoiled, Harry hated to share.

Burying his face in his pillow, he tried to force sleep upon himself before he could consider the implications of that selfishness any more deeply than he already had. After all, his mind warned him, he was on dangerous territory, the kind where he stood to lose more than he could handle.

_OOO_

It was early in the morning when Gwen Stacy finally began to make her way home. She knew she should have taken a cab, that it would have been the safe and sensible thing to do. But she wanted fresh air and felt too wound up to simply ride home. Her friends looked at her doubtfully, but she waved them on and they left without her.

Although she was never the kind to go looking for trouble, she sauntered past the alley being deliberately provocative and not struggling at all when she felt a pair of hands grab her.

An hour later she was safely in bed, the dress hanging in her closet unscathed and her head untroubled by memories of anything save stumbling through the door and pulling on her nightgown. Seven blocks over, two men lay in an alley, one with his stomach slashed open as if by claws and the other with his throat torn out with a wound that bore the ragged signs of serrated teeth.

_OOO_

A/N: Thanks again to all who reviewed. :) Next chapter, there will be a little more from Peter's perspective, including his telling Aunt May, as well as a further complication regarding Gwen.


	10. Second Chances

_OOO_

When he met Mary Jane the next morning, Peter went through their time together mechanically. Despite all of his best intentions to spend quality time with her, his mind was elsewhere, particularly after the previous evening. Another time she might have questioned him or even criticized him for his distraction; however, emotionally worn as she was after another day of kindly phrased rejections, Mary Jane wasn't in much of a mood for breakfast either. So they sat together in the small cafe, both playing their roles in an act that they were beginning to suspect was a farce.

After they'd finally finished, Peter paid and MJ gave him a quick peck on the cheek before they went their separate ways. Hefting his backpack onto his shoulders, Peter began to make his way down to campus. However, he'd only gone a block or two before hearing the telltale screams that meant his presence was needed. Rushing, he ducked into an alley so that he could change; if he hurried, he might still make it to class in time.

_OOO_

Gwen Stacy opened her closet to find that the red dress from the previous night had disappeared. Frowning, she looked to see if it had dropped off of the hanger and fallen on the closet floor. She couldn't find it at all however. Dazed, she wondered how much she'd had to drink the previous night; perhaps she'd imagined the whole evening out. Then her clock beeped, letting her know that time was running out for her to get read and get to class. Rummaging through the clothes she did have as quickly as she could, she found a cute, if low-cut, black top with a red flower design printed on it.

Pulling it on along with a pair of jeans, she grabbed her books and dashed out of the door.

_OOO_

The trouble he'd overheard - a car wreck that had left a small child trapped - was taken care of easily enough. As he turned to leave, a voice rose over the sounds of the appreciative crowd.

"Hey Spidey, where's your pal?"

The questioner didn't seem sarcastic; instead it seemed to be an inquiry born out of genuine curiosity. For the first time, it hit Peter that he was irrevocably tied in and identified with Harry, not just in a private friendship but in a very public working relationship. He turned and faced the man who'd asked.

"Taking a break. It's my shift today," he said cheerfully, then shot a line of webbing and swung away in the direction of Empire State University.

_OOO_

His papers to be signed in hand, Harry shifted uncomfortably in the waiting room chair. He'd been at the hospital for half an hour already and he was starting to get sore from sitting in the barely-cushioned seat. Impatient, he rifled through the stack of magazines on a nearby table, three of which had Peter on the cover. At the sight of his friend, Harry had to smile; Daredevil was right. Everything about his appearance, from the bright colors of his costume to his energetic posing, seemed to suggest youthful exuberance. Flipping one of them open, he came upon a collage of action shots, most of which Peter himself had taken, and he felt another stab of impatience. It would be much more invigorating to be out with Peter right now, or even by himself, instead of letting the hours tick by waiting for the doctors to find a space in their schedule.

Taking up a more recent publication, he noticed an article titled "Spider-Man's Darkest Hour" written by a Ben Urich. Curious to see what it might say about him, he flipped to it. However, the pictures splashed on the glossy pages brought him back to that night with a frightening jolt. The sight of Venom's leering, toothy smile, the collpsed building, the looming sand creature - they stirred up memories of blood and fire and Harry felt a dull ache in his chest where the glider had pierced. Tossing the magazine aside, he looked for lighter fare, inane babble about sports figures getting arrested for a variety of drug-based charges and starlets demonstrating their lack of an ability to put on underwear.

As he read, a girl toting an oxygen machine came over and picked up the magazine that he'd thrown away. She turned to the same article that he had been looking at when a woman, whom Harry surmised to be her mother, rushed over. When she saw what her daughter was reading, she pulled it out of the girl's hands.

"Penny, I told you not to look at that stuff," she scolded.

"But mom..."

"Come on and sit down. It's almost time for your appointment anyway."

The child frowned but didn't protest any further as her mother forcefully guided her to a seat across the room. Harry looked after them; the name Penny sounded familiar and the girl's face gave him a strange, vague sense of deja vu. Peter did have a lot of young fans, that much he knew; was she simply another one of those?

"Penny Marko?" The nurse on duty came around and stood in front of the parent-child pair, gesturing down a hallway. "The doctor will see you now."

They walked down to their appointment and Harry said still in his chair, feeling as if he'd been hit with a ton of bricks - or more aptly, he thought when his head finally cleared, a ton of sand.

_OOO_

Flexing his hand as it was beginning to cramp, Peter scribbled down the last of the directions that Dr. Connors had written on the board for their lab. Taking his place beside Gwen he gave her a tentative smile. He hoped that she had begun to forgive him by then, as he'd given her numerous and profuse apologies. However, he was still a bit surprised when she smiled back.

"Hey Pete."

"Hey!" His smiled widened. "How are you?"

"Oh, I'm good," she replied. "How about you? Are you doing well?"

"Yeah, I'm all right. Look, about that date..."

She sighed. "I know, I know. You're sorry." She punched a few numbers into her scientific calculator and wrote in the result on her sheet. "Peter, do you know why I was mad?"

"Um..." He racked his brain trying to figure out what answer she might be looking for; there were, after all, any number of reasons.

"I was mad because you used me. I went out with you because I liked _you_; but for you, it wasn't about me at all. It was about _her_." She shrugged. "I never did understand why you liked her so much in the first place."

Peter's eyes grew slightly wide. "What do you mean?"

"She's an actress, isn't she? Opposites attract and all, I guess, but I wouldn't have figured that to be your type." She let her eyes lock with his. "I would have thought you'd want somebody a little more, well, mentally in line with you. You're practically a genius - does she even try to understand what you're learning about?"

"Gwen, not everybody has to be book-smart for me to like them; I wouldn't have many friends if they did."

She thought that he didn't have that many friends period, but didn't say so aloud. "That's not what I meant. There aren't many people as smart as you Pete," she told him and he blushed, "But there are people who are interested. And even if they're not, if they really care about someone they make an effort to at least listen or understand."

The image of Mary Jane laughing away his explanation about soundwaves flew into his mind.

"At least that's the kind of person I'd want," Gwen continued. "Someone who could keep up with me, that I could talk to and that I knew was listening."

She gave him a significant gaze, but his mind was far away and in the past, his memory having shifted from the thought of an unknowing but unconcerned red-head to the image of a high school boy confused and uncomprehending but doing his best to understand what his friend was saying about oxidation and chemical bonds and laws of momentum and circulatory systems.

"You know Pete," Gwen interrupted his train of thought with a hand on his shoulder, "I don't know where things are with you and your girlfriend but if you ever wanted to give it another go - let's just say that I'm a firm believer in second chances."

The class began to empty out of the room and Gwen left with them, leaving a slightly stunned Peter behind in her wake.

_OOO_

Once it was finally his turn to see the doctor, Harry hurried and got his papers signed as quickly as he could then rushed back to the lobby, hoping to catch sight of Penny once more. Fortunately the giftshop in the lobby had large glass windows so he was able to stick around and watch for her under the pretense of looking for a gift. He wasn't sure what he intended to say to her - his mind hadn't thought that far ahead - but for some reason talking to her seemed urgent and of the utmost importance. Coming back to a world where his death had seemingly cut him off and he had only Peter to turn to, she represented a connection. He wasn't sure what kind, but it was something.

His patience was finally rewarded when she came out with her mother. Harry rushed to approach them, a bit nervous about what the mother might think, when Penny pointed towards the stuffed animals in the store. Her mother nodded, but then went into the women's restroom, leaving Penny alone in front of a large display rack of Beanie Babies.

Quietly, Harry approached her and looked down at her with a smile.

"Hey there."

She looked up at him with soft brown eyes; for a moment, they reminded him of Peter's.

"Hi." She replied, then reached for a tie-dyed octopus.

"Saw you looking at that article." He knelt so that he would be at her level. "Do you like Spider-Man?"

She gave a litle shrug. "Yeah. 'Course."

He leaned in and allowed his voice to get softer. "I'll bet I know who you like more, though. That Sandman - he's a bit of a hero too, isn't he?"

A small tremor ran through her already spindly frame and she carefully put the octopus back. "Nobody says that he is," she replied in a strained voice.

"Oh, I think he is. Maybe he didn't start that way; but sometimes people come around in the end. He ended up a hero, I'm sure of it. And I would know." He reached in his pocked and gave her a glimpse of the remote he used to control his Sky Stick. "You see, I was there."

Penny's eyes grew wide and she was unable to contain a little gasp. Harry smiled at her and patted her shoulder before slipping her a piece of paper.

"If you ever need help, use that number. And if you see your dad again - let him know that Spidey and I would like to talk to him. Tell him to come to the Osborn penthouse - he'll know how to find it. Say that I'd like to be able to help you. And remember," he put his finger to his lips. "This is a secret."

Nodding fervently, Penny clutched the paper then slid it into the outside pocket of her Dora the Explorer backpack. Harry went and purchased the octopus and gave it to her; she slipped that into her backpack as well. Then, with a wave good-bye, Harry headed for the revolving door, allowing her to wait for her mother with the older woman none the wiser about their conversation.

_OOO_

Peter stood outside the door of his Aunt May's place and stared at it for a long while. He wiped his hands on his pants, agitated, and ran through the speech he'd prepared in his mind once more. All he had to do was walk in there calmly and explain; not that big of a deal. She probably already knew, he told himself. She wouldn't freak out if he didn't freak out. All he needed to do was remain calm and tell her. That was the priority - remain calm. Reaching for the knob, he noticed his hand was shaking and he frowned.

Perhaps it would be better to knock.

He rapped on the door and it swung open after a moment. His aunt stood there in her house dress and gave him a smile.

"Peter! So glad you dropped by. Have you had lunch yet? Can I fix you a sandwich?"

"Sure Aunt May." He bit his lip. "Aunt May, can I tell you something?"

"Of course Peter. Anything." She began taking lunchmeat and condiments out of her refridgerator.

"I, well, um... It's just that... It's kind of big. Do you want to sit down?"

"Nonsense, I'm fine." She set two pieces of bread on a plate. "You act as if I'm an old lady!"

Grabbing a chair, Peter sat down and began fidgeting with his hands.

"I'm not sure where to begin..."

"Is it MJ?" She spread mayonnaise on the slices.

"No, not really..."

"School?" She layered turkey, cheese, lettuce and tomato.

"No," he sighed. He knew he should just come out and say it...

She topped off the sandwich with the second piece of bread then added a handful of chips. Placing it in front of him along with a Pepsi she sat down in the chair opposite to her nephew. "Peter? Is this the Spider-Man thing?"

In that moment, he was sure the blood must have drained out of his face entirely.

"You knew? All along? I mean, I thought you might, but..."

"Of course I knew, Peter dear. I'm not stupid - even a blind person could have seen it from this close up." _And so one did_, Peter thought. "Always absent, those pictures you take, your exhaustion, injuries here and there - yes, I've known for some time now."

"Then why didn't you say anything!" Peter threw his hands up.

"I wanted to wait for when you felt the time was right," she said, patting his hand. "Now eat your sandwich Peter. You probably need the energy."

_OOO_

A/N: As always, a big thank you to all my readers. Next chapter will have more scenes with Peter and Harry together and possibly, if I can work it in, the raising and opening of the coffin.


	11. Covering Up

_OOO_

"You owe me big time," Peter told Harry without preamble later that evening, when he returned to Harry's penthouse upon the other's behest.

"And why, pray tell, is that?" Harry looked bemused as he caught the newspaper that Peter threw his way.

"Because Jameson is apparently unable to either pronounce or comprehend the name Viridian and it took all I had to convince him to call you that instead of 'the belligerent Dragonfly' or something equally inane."

"Thanks, buddy." He perused the article. "A menace, am I?"

"Join the club." Peter laughed as they ambled down the hallway together.

"So did you tell Aunt May yet?" Harry asked, still looking over the Bugle.

"She already knew! Can you believe it? She was waiting until 'I felt the time was right' or something like that. But I was worried out of my mind for nothing!"

"See? She's a lot more perceptive than you give her credit for."

"At least I don't have to worry about it with her; she won't tell anybody. It's the perceptions of others I worry about," he told Harry, a frown creasing his face. "I mean, Murdock seemed to figure it out easily enough as well. And he barely knows me. What if my identity is more obvious than I think it is? How long will it be until someone figures it out? I could lose MJ, or Aunt May or anybody else that I care about..."

"I won't let that happen," Harry snapped defensively.

"Harry?" Peter's voice grew quiet, startled by his friend's sudden vehemence.

"You have enough to deal with defending the city everyday; you shouldn't have to worry about scum finding out about you and hunting down you or the people you love." Peter quirked an eyebrow at him and Harry flushed furiously as he recalled doing the same only a short time before. "I know, I know. I have a lot to make up for. But that's why I want to help you - and not just in costume either." He looked away for a moment, aware that he might be starting another argument. "Peter, I really wish you would take up my old offer and let me find you a place. Somewhere cleanier than that rat-trap, somewhere more private, somewhere safer. Hell, you could just stay here."

"Harry..."

"Yeah, yeah, you want to make it on your own steam and all of that good junk. Think about it though, Pete. You'll be a lot more secure. And if you stayed with me we would be able to coordinate team efforts a lot more easily," he reasoned aloud to Peter despite the irritating sensation that he wanted Peter close for ulterior motives. He touched Peter's shoulder. "Please, Pete? It would set my mind at ease. And I..." He drew in a deep breath. "I'd feel a lot more comfortable too, if you stayed for a bit. _I'd _feel safer."

When he felt the pressure of Harry's hand against his arm, Peter felt a tingling in the back of his mind, something like what he'd felt with Gwen Stacy earlier but not quite. It was as if there was something lying beneath the surface of their words and glances, execpt that in her case it mildly alarmed him whereas with Harry it felt familiar. As though it were something he ought to recognize, a sensation he ought to be familiar with, but something was blocking the recollection. A few moments later he realized that somewhere along the way he had ceased breathing and he drew in air with a sharp gasp.

"I don't know, Harry. It seems sudden. Besides - with your reappearance and Viridian's appearance, if we start getting too close couldn't that make people more suspicious?" Harry's face fell and Peter felt unaccountably guilty for something he wasn't sure he'd done wrong. "I'm sorry. I appreciate the offer, really I do."

"No, it's fine. I understand," Harry replied, though his voice betrayed his hurt.

"Maybe, then. Can I think about it?" He shifted awkwardly for a moment, then rummaged through his backpack. "By the way, MJ and I had breakfast this morning..."

"Oh?" Harry struggled to keep his tone neutral. "How was it?"

"Ok," Peter replied, avoiding a more accurate description of their increasingly difficult relationship. "She gave me advice on something for you though. I picked up some stuff after work." He drew a bag out of the pack and suddenly grew nervous; he wasn't sure how Harry would take it. "It's... um... well, here." He shoved it towards Harry who opened it up.

"Make-up?" Harry looked inside and disbelief was etched across his face.

"Don't take it the wrong way!" Peter blurted. "I just thought you might be, you know, uncomfortable. In public. And MJ, being an actress and everything, I thought she might know about what would do a good job of it."

Time seemed to briefly freeze and Peter felt lightheaded. The last thing he wanted was for Harry to take offense or think Peter was implying he was ugly. For the second time in as many minutes, Peter stopped breathing without realizing it. Then Harry turned to him with a smile and a shrug, and all was right with the world once more.

"Sounds good. I don't know how to put it on though."

"I can do that. MJ showed me a bit," Peter grinned. "Want to try it out?"

"Now? I suppose. It's as good a time as any."

They decided to attempt it with Harry sitting in the large office chair and with all of the various cremes, brushes, powders and sponges Peter had brought laid out on the desk.

"Close your eyes and try to relax your face," he told Harry, who complied as he leaned back slightly in his seat.

Before beginning Peter looked at the scars on the side of Harry's face and brushed them lightly with his fingertips. The skin was rough and textured, not at all what a 'normal' cheek would feel like, but somehow there was a rightness to the feeling. Everything wrong between them had come to an explosive conclusion and they were both scarred, inside and out; but they were both still alive, both still connected. Perhaps, Peter mused, that connection was even stronger since they knew they could withstand conflict. Besides, the scars were a lovely imperfection, something that made Harry solid and human rather than some ephemeral ideal that couldn't be captured. They were something unique to Harry, something Peter had created. As for covering them up, it was no insult at all - for who should be allowed to see them in their fullness besides Peter?

"Pete? Sometime today?" Harry interrupted his reverie, nervous at what stirred when the slightly-sticky pads of Peter's fingers stroked his face.

Jumping, Peter nodded and began to prep Harry's face for the foundation. He smoothed, blended and dusted Harry's face in a halting process, wanting to be sure that he did everything correctly, the way MJ and the woman at the counter had told him to; the latter being somewhat condescending at the sight of an obviously clueless male purchasing makeup. While he performed his slow work, Harry Osborn was doing his best to suppress the sensations that wracked his body, fear not the least among them.

Despite the fact that his eyes were closed, Harry knew by the feel of the heat Peter radiated and the touches to his face that Peter was above him, hovering over him; and that idea excited him terribly. Moments after he realized that it did, a cold dread settled in the pit of his stomach as his body forced him to face a fact he would rather ignore. Heated blood rushed, up and down, and he wanted to stay and to bolt at the same time. If he moved he would be bereft of what he was enjoying so much; but was that fair to Peter? To be gaining subconcious pleasure from an act Peter was doing innocently, to help him? It felt like a betrayal, somehow.

Besides, if he did move he might be letting on more than he would like. Peter would want to know why and Harry didn't trust himself to have control enough to keep the truth from tumbling out. Then Peter would suffer even more, would probably push Harry away and put himself at risk in doing so. It would complicate everything: their friendship, their mutual relationship to Mary Jane, the secrets Harry knew and had to keep but which Peter might doubt he would if he scorned Harry. Would he keep them? His heart thudded and he decided that the best answers to any questions were for them not to be asked at all.

There was one question that he stopped to consider, however. Only he could answer it yet he didn't seem to be able to pin down a definite conclusion. Since when had he loved Peter Parker in such a way? Was it a recent development, as if being dead somehow made him gay as well? That seemed absurd to say the least. Was it something that stretched back all the way to high school? Something that the madness and freedom of the Goblin Formula finally allowed him to admit to himself? Did it develop after the persistant inhibition that was his father was removed? Perhaps after finding out that Peter was Spider-Man, some type of demented loathing conflated with hero worship until attraction, of any sort, ran too deeply to ever be reconsigned to mere friendship again?

His mind went back to the night of the fight, the night he 'died'; Harry remembered how he had hesitated to go into a freefall attempting to save Mary Jane. With Peter's life, however, there had been no hesitation or deliberation. When it came down to Peter or himself the choice was no choice at all. Wasn't that the line between love and infatuation?

"Done!" Peter declared all of a sudden and Harry opened his eyes. Peter was holding a mirror in front of him, allowing him to inspect. "Took me a bit to match your skin color but I think I managed."

The discoloration had been blended over and the mottling was mostly gone. His more prominent scars were still visible but from a distance it was not so bad. Peter had done the job so well that it was difficult to discern that he was even wearing makeup. Lowering the mirror, Harry gave him a tacit smile of approval.

"It's a good job," he said. "But how can I accept your generosity when you won't take mine?" It was, perhaps, a subtle manipulation. But in some ways it accurately reflected how Harry felt. He didn't want to have Peter going the extra mile for him and refusing to accept a hand when Harry offered.

Peter sighed. Harry was relentless - and to be honest, the apartment grated on his nerves more than he would have cared to admit. The outburst against Mr. Ditkovitch when he was wearing the black suit was only the most visible manifestation of his overall frustration. Would it really be so bad, to accept a break for once?

"I suppose I can think about it. Seriously." He smiled. "And... probably." He gave Harry a hesitant smile and Harry flashed a smile broader than Peter had seen in a long time.

"You'll stay tonight?" He asked, eyebrows raised, half-hoping he would and half-fearing that he would read too much into every little action Peter did. Peter nodded his consent and Harry's smile returned "Fantastic. Bernard has the room prepped already. You can go there after dinner."

For Peter it was a somewhat usual feeling, to have a place to go to where he was expected and where a welcome was waiting. It wasn't unlike Aunt May's place, a haven that he knew he could go to, but eons away from the solitary, broken down apartment where all that was waiting were incessant demands for rent. Strange to think that only a couple months ago Harry refused to even speak to him. Yet Peter did not pause to wonder about the warmth of his reception.

After all, what else would one expect of a best friend?

They sat down in the kitchen and Bernard served them a light dinner of some sort of pasta with pesto sauce. Harry sat trying to think of something to break the silence and distract himself from thoughts of what Peter living with him might mean.

"I met Penny Marko today," he offered. "At the hospital."

"Oh?" Peter looked slightly surprised.

"Yeah. Sweet kid. Wish I could help her."

"Don't we all - not sure we can though."

"I asked her if we could talk to her dad if possible."

"Flint?"

"Yes. Don't know how he'll take it or if she can even find him. But I figured it would be worth it to get in touch with him. She did a lot for you that night and I'd like to see if there isn't anything that could be done. And as for Flint, well..." he gave Peter a slight smirk. "It's always better to have friends than enemies."

Peter grinned. "I totally agree."

"Un-hunh. So basically, I'd like to help her as much as I can. Him too, if he'll let me."

They rest of the meal passed with small talk and chatter, a repast that was for Peter infinitely less awkward than the one he'd experienced that morning. When they were through, they put the dishes into the sink and Peter stumbled off to a bed more comfortable than the one that normally awaited. Harry smiled as he watched the door closed then forced himself to turn away; he had to be careful, so careful. It was a tough blow, coming clean with Peter about everything for the first time only to realize there was one more secret that needed to be kept.

But what else could he do?

He went and climbed into his own bed, wondering for a moment what it would feel like to have another body in the bed with him, close to him. A presence that could comfort him.

And then another presence did enter the room, only the emotion it produced was far from comforting.

_Harry... How could you. You disgust me._

He tried to shut his ears against it and nearly wailed with despair. It couldn't start again. Not him, not now, please anything but that...

_OOO_

A/N: And with that it will end on a bit of a cliffhanger. Sorry for the chapter delay - I wanted to do Harry's realization appropriately. Also, I finally got a copy of the novelization and wanted to try and incorporate some of it. So there you have it; the exhumation scene is coming but I shifted plans a little on it. But that's for another chapter. I hope you enjoyed and as always I appreciate any and all input. :)


	12. His Father's Voice

_OOO_

Screwing his eyes tightly shut, Harry covered his head with the pillow. Yet the voice still managed to find him.

_You shameful, disgusting creature_, Norman's voice hissed. _Stupid little faggot. You think he loves you? He killed me, Harry. Killed me. And when he finds out about you - he will hate you even more._

"Pete doesn't hate me," Harry whispered through clenched teeth. "He would never hate me! He cares about me..."

_But not like I did. Never like I did. And never in the way you want him to. When he finds out, he'll never want to be near you again._

"That's a lie! I'm not listening to you."

_Then why don't you test my theory? Tell him. Tell him everything. And then see what he does._

Throwing him self out of bed, Harry tore down the hallway. Once he stumbled down to where he kept the alcohol, he realized how stupid a move it was. There he was confronted with the mirror and the portrait, his father's voice inside his head growing even stronger.

_She will turn away from you too. Will think you used her. Won't even be your friend - though I suppose you wouldn't want her as a lover, now that you've decided you're... like that. _His voice dripped with disdain.

"Shut up!" He hissed, his hands shaking violently as he tried to pour a glass of whiskey. The tumbler fell out of his hands and shattered on the floor. Spitting out an expletive, Harry swigged straight from the cut glass bottle. As the liquor burned down his throat, he wiped the back of his mouth and immediately felt ashamed and slammed the bottle down, nearly breaking that as well. Exhausted and trembling, Harry fell onto the sofa and buried his head in his hands. Moments later he heard the sound of footsteps.

"Harry?" Peter's voice was laden with concern. "Harry, I heard something breaking. Is everything alright?" He looked at the mess on the floor. "Harry, have you been drinking again?" He gave him a severe look which quickly softened when Harry looked up at him with bloodshot eyes. "I hate it when you drink," he explained sitting down next to him and putting his arm around him. "You're not my Harry anymore when you drink."

The other's muscles seized up immediately at the contact. _'I'm not your Harry at all, though. Not how I'd want to be.' _

_And you'll never be_, came Norman's voice in harsh reply.

He pushed his thoughts and the voice away. "I'm fine Pete. I had a bad dream is all."

"Bad dream? About what?"

He couldn't tell Peter he was hearing his father. Peter would think he was crazy and probably refuse to trust him.

_Lying again? You don't have to lie to me. I already know._

A muscle in his jaw twitched briefly before he looked at Peter. Doing his best to keep his turmoil from showing, he told him the first thing that came to mind. "It was the night of my death again. It ended when I got stabbed through the chest. But it felt so real..."

"You're safe now though Harry," Peter told him, trying to read Harry's face. He wanted to set him at ease but Harry seemed so agitated he wasn't sure what to do. "Tell you what, why don't I clean this up and you just rest. Can I get you anything? Warm milk? Something to help you sleep?"

Harry's thoughts drifted to Bernard who once made similar offers. But they wouldn't help, now or then. There was more wrong with him, deeply wrong, than anything he drank or medicated himself with would solve.

"No. It's OK." He forced a smile. "I'll take care of it. You need your sleep. You worked and saved people and went to school all day and all I did was get some papers signed. Get your rest and I'll take care of myself."

"Are you sure?" Peter sounded doubtful.

"I'm sure," Harry replied, giving him what he hoped was a reassuring nod. "You go on." He went over and began to pick up the shards of glass.

Peter gave him a quizzical glace but, after turning and giving him one last look, retreated back to his room. Harry dumped the glass into a waste basket and went to the kitchen to grab towels and soak up whatever he could of the alcohol that hadn't soaked into the carpet. Kneeling, he began to daub up the liquid.

_See how quickly he abandoned you?_

"Shut up!" He nearly shouted but kept his voice down so as not to alert Peter. He sat up and twisted so that he wouldn't see the mirror; and as he did so, he bumped into his desk, causing a stack of papers to slide to the floor. Sighing in frustration, he gathered them up and started to straighten them. As he did, a smaller scrap of paper slid out from between the sheaves and fluttered to the floor. Picking it up, he realized it was the number he'd been given the other day.

_...feel free to call it if you just need somebody to talk to..._

Perhaps it was time to take the lawyer up on that offer and see how truly he really meant that. The alcohol ever so slightly taking the edge off of his judgement and his desperation to hide from Peter made the idea seem even more attractive. Grabbing his cell phone off of his desk, Harry punched in the numbers.

_Harry, how could you? A stranger, Harry? You would betray me and our relationship to a complete stranger? _The voice sounded more furious than hurt.

"No," he snapped. "To a confident." He only hoped that assessment was correct.

The phone rang three times before it was picked up.

_OOO_

Matthew Murdock had been up late, coming up with a closing argument for a recent case and considering whether or not he ought to let Foggy do the cross-examination for another. When the phone rang, he barely registered what the sound was for a few seconds. Once he did, he wondered who would be calling at such a time of night.

"Hello?" He asked. "Harry! How are you? Not well? I see. No, no, it's fine. I told you that you could. Would you like to come here? Or should I come over there? It's not a problem. I'll give you directions."

Working quickly, he cleaned up the papers strewn about his desk before going downstairs to wait for his guest. The knock came ten or fifteen minutes later and he opened the door for the boy who stumbled in, smelling faintly of alcohol and clearly upset. His heartbeat and breath were both erratic and when Matthew put his hand on Harry's back the fabric had the feeling of nightclothes, as though he'd rushed over after a fitful sleep.

"Come." He directed him into the living room and sat him down on a couch. "What's wrong?"

"I needed to talk to somebody," he said breathlessly. "Somebody who would believe me, that I could tell things to and who..." He fidgeted with his hands and swallowed. "Who would maybe know what I should do."

"To do about what?" Matt kept his tone calm and even, inviting Harry to say more but at his own pace.

"It's my father!" Harry shouted. "I... I keep hearing him! And he tells me all these things that I know aren't true, but they sound true when he says them! And he wants me to kill Peter, and avenge him and do all these things that he says a faithful son would do. And I don't want to disappoint him, I never did, but I can't, I just can't, it's too much and he's never going to stop..."

With that, he broke down and sobbed, partially out of fear but also partially out of the release that came from someone finally knowing, someone whom he hoped would be able to fix the problem, as naive as that sounded. His whole body shuddered with the emotion pouring out of him and he only distantly felt the sensation of Matthew's arm around his shoulder as his rant continued.

"I want to live my own life but he won't let me, he'll never let me! Every time I turn around, every time I see my reflection, he's there, whispering to me, never leaving me alone, never, never, _never_... And I hate it but he's my father and I loved him and I wanted him to be proud of me but he just keeps demanding! And now that I'm in lo-" He suddenly pulled short, stopping himself and looking away.

"Take a deep breath," Matthew murmured, rubbing circles on his back. He did not try to placate him by saying that everything was alright, because it clearly wasn't, but he did try to calm him. "Deep breaths, that's it. Do you need some tissues?" He jumped up and quickly grabbed a box out of the bathroom down the hall and set them on the boy's lap. "Take your time. Breathe."

When his eyes were finally dry and cried out, Harry slumped against Matthew and the older man shifted to hold him better.

"He won't stop until Peter's dead," Harry told him in a strained voice. "And I... I just can't. He's too much to me. I'll die. I did die for him! I can't kill him but unless I do my father won't go away but I can't, I _can't_..."

"You love him, don't you?" His voice was kind and sympathetic, far from the scorn Norman had to offer.

Harry was too emotionally exhausted to even feel surprise. Instead, he simply nodded, too tired to even wonder how Murdock knew. "Pete doesn't know though. Please don't tell him..."

"I won't," he promised. For Matthew, it was a start; but there were still too many holes that needed filling in before he could help the boy. He rubbed Harry's shoulder and felt the boy's muscles relaxing; that was progress at least. "What happened between your father and Peter?"

Taking a deep breath, Harry was briefly reluctant. The opportunity for catharsis was too attractive, however, and he found the entire sordid story suddenly spilling out. "Dad... Dad went crazy. He was the Goblin. Used some formula the company came up with, but it did stuff to him, and he and Peter got into a fight and he ended up dead; tried to stab Pete with his glider except Peter jumped and it hit him instead." He exhaled heavily. "But when Peter brought the body back, he took off the costume so I wouldn't know. And all I saw at the time was Spider-Man dumping my father's corpse onto the couch." A few tears managed to stream down his face and Matthew reached for a tissue and wiped them away silently. "That was how it looked! What was I supposed to think?

"I got upset at Pete because he took all those pictures. And I thought he knew something but he wouldn't tell me - me, who was supposedly his best friend! Then everything with Otto went screwy and the company went south. I kept drinking and drinking... Peter hates it when I do," he added for no apparent reason. It simply seemed important that Matthew know. "I slapped him once when I was drunk, you see, but that wasn't as bad as..." He swallowed. "I had Octavius kidnap him. Spider-Man. Was going to stab him but I wanted to see his face and it was Pete under there, Pete... I hesitated. Let him go to stop Ock. And I found my dad's old stuff.

"Then I came after Pete. Wouldn't listen to him, he kept trying to explain but I was using that green stuff and I _wouldn't listen to him!_" Harry's voice briefly escalated as he vented his fury at himself. Then he paused and calmed down. "The first time we fought, I hit my head real bad and Pete saved me. I forgot because of it, all the bad memories, and things were OK for a while; but then I remembered again, used MJ to get to him, Except this time... this time Pete was different. Something was wrong with him too. He came at me, we came at each other, said dad hated me, I threw a bomb at him, he snapped it back..." His grip on Matthew's shirt viciously tightened and, his tears once more gone, he shook with dry sobs. "But when he came that night, I went to him! Because he was my _friend_, more than my friend... my best friend, I... I'd do anything for Peter, _anything_. I loved him, even then, and was too stupid and angry and blind to see it.

"And when I came back all I wanted was to see him. Because Peter makes everything right. And for a while I thought I was free, that my father was gone. But he might not even be dead and now his voice, his image... He's in my mind and all around and I can't fight him anymore, I just want him to be quiet..."

His discursive story finally finished, Harry's body went slack and Matthew drew it to himself, helping the boy stretch out on the couch and settling Harry's head in his lap. He stroked the boy's hair and felt him slowly begin to drift into sleep. _Damn_, Matthew thought though he didn't say it aloud. There was a lot beneath the surface, a complex - forgiving himself the pun - web of issues and a lengthy, unhappy story of two friends misunderstanding and hurting each other in ways that only the truly close could. And hearing his father? He frowned. A few possibilities came to mind, but he was no psychologist.

He would do the best he could of course. Part of Harry's initial lament gave him hope; apparently, whatever the apparition was, it was trying to get to Harry through rhetoric. That was leverage, for if there was one battle Matthew could fight better than a physical brawl, it was a battle of words.

That fight was for the morrow, however. Harry was clearly to tired to even stay awake, let alone continue or explain further about his father's appearances. Easily lifting the boy's body from the couch, Matthew carried him up the stairs and into an empty guest room. Hopefully, if he woke early enough, he could explain any questions the boy might have about the evening and get him back to his actual home without perturbing any servants or employees who might be concerned over Harry's disappearance. Carefully he set Harry down and pulled the sheets and comforter over him. He hoped the boy wouldn't wake but there wasn't much question of him rising. Harry was so run down by that point that his sleep was deep and nearly undisturbable.

Making a note to check up on him every hour or so, Matthew turned and let him sleep, though he left the door open so he might hear any disturbances more clearly. He went back to his work, concern for Harry still weighing heavily on his mind.

_Poor kid._

_OOO_

As the first rays of sunlight struck the masonry on the Osborn Penthouse, an observant person might have noticed a thin stream of sand trickling upwards towards where the windows were and slipping in through them. On the floor, a pile was beginning to form, but as both Peter and Bernard were still asleep nobody was there to notice it.

_OOO_

A/N: So a bit of a surprise, given the assumptions many reviewers made about who would be helping Harry through the rough spots. Hopefully it's not an unpleasant or too out-of-left-field surprise. There will be more Harry/Peter interaction the next time, I promise. And I'll get to the exhumation too. Eventually. I hope. Soon. Promise. And more slashy-ness too.


	13. What You Desire

_OOO_

For the first few moments after he awoke, Harry was disoriented and confused. Only after taking in the rest of the strange bedroom did he recall his conversation the previous evening with Matthew Murdock. His memories grew foggy and he assumed that he fell asleep and was placed into the bed. Swinging onto the floor in his stockinged feet, still in most of his clothing from the previous evening - he'd managed to put on khakis in addition to his pajama top - Harry pulled the shoes that had been left by the bedside on and made his way into the hall, searching for a stairwell.

"Matthew?" He called.

"Down here." The man's voice came from the base of a set of stairs at the end of the hall, accompanied by a wafting smell of coffee. Harry followed the sound and the scent and found himself in a small but tidy kitchen. The red-haired lawyer was already there in a pressed shirt drinking from a mug. He nodded towards Harry, who wondered how the man knew where he was. Heightened senses, he supposed. "How do you like your coffee?"

"I'll take it black," Harry mumbled, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to get himself into some semblance of order. He took the cup Matthew offered and puffed on the scalding liquid.

"Doing better?" Matthew asked, taking a sip of his own drink.

"Maybe. Yeah. I think."

"Well, if you'd like I can take you home. I can get you there and offer any explanation you'd like - say that we were buried in paper work until late, perhaps, if anybody questions you."

"Nah, I can get home. Have to get the car back anyway. I'll be fine. I probably should call Pete, though - do you have a phone?" Matthew pointed in the direction of his study. "Thanks." Harry dialed the phone in his study but Peter didn't pick up, so he left the boy a message telling him where he'd gone and that he hoped he'd be back soon. When he returned, he found Matthew pouring himself a second cup.

"Would you care to sit down?" He offered in a non-chalant tone.

Harry nodded and pulled out one of the chairs. He looked down into the dark, steaming liquid and braced himself for what he figured was coming. Matthew sat down next to him and cleared his throat.

"Harry? Do you feel like talking?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "I guess."

"Can you tell me anything about the voice you're hearing?"

"It's my dad's. Sounds like him at least. Wants me to kill Peter. Get revenge. Like some messed up version of Hamlet except that it's real. It's real and I have to live though every nightmarish minute of it."

"What does he say to you?"

"A lot of stuff. Tells me I'm worthless, weak." He frowned. "Always wanting me to be jealous."

"Do you believe any of it?"

"Hard not to. Wasn't exactly top of the class. My work at OsCorp didn't turn out so well. Lost MJ. Nothing else ever really worked."

"And why didn't things work?"

"I don't know! I'm... I'm just not good at stuff like that! Science and business and trying to tell who's a gold digger and who's really interested in you - I was never good at that!"

"Then what are you good at Harry? What do you like to do?"

He scoffed. "I like painting. OK? And playing basketball, even if I'm not good at it. And being with Peter."

"The voice discounts this?"

"Yeah," he snapped. "It does. Look, what does this have to do with anything?"

"I want you to _think _Harry. You heed the voice even when you don't want to. When it talks to you, do you respond?"

"Yes! I... I try! I try to argue, but I'm apparently no good at that either! I told him no once and he just came back!"

"Tell me about that."

"MJ - she came over, upset. Kissed me. And then she ran, bolted like I revolted her." His brow furrowed. "Before that I'd told him Pete and MJ were my friends but as soon as she left, it all broke down. Because it seemed like he was right. Like everything he said came true. That only he was there for me."

"Why did you kiss her?"

"Because... because she was beautiful and needy and... and she reminds me of Pete." He sipped, reflecting. "Peter loves her so much. Always has. Always looks at her, with those brown puppy dog eyes of his, always wanting her but too shy to do anything but blush. And she's... she's... I don't know!"

"As close to Peter as you could get while remaining safely heterosexual?" Matthew suggested quietly. Harry didn't answer. "Harry, you can't counter an argument if you aren't sure of what _your _argument is. You disagree with what the voice says but you aren't confident enough to be yourself or fight for what you desire. You're still insecure of yourself so you acquiesce to what somebody else is telling you that you should want and be and do. Until you are certain of what the truth is and what you want, you will always be swayed."

"So what do you suggest I do?" Harry asked in a voice thick with sarcasm.

"As trite as it sounds, you need to be more self-assured - something I'm guessing was difficult in the shadow of your father." Harry shrugged. "Take your sexuality. How do you feel about that?"

"I don't know! It's... it's just _there_. I never really thought about... I mean... I guess I'm a little scared but only because Pete will hate me if he knows..."

"How do you know that?"

"Because... because! Because what's he supposed to think about our friendship? That I've been... been thinking nasty things about him? I can't tell him that!" He swigged more coffee. "And what about other people? What are they going to assume, what if things at the company go south because of it, I mean, it's not exactly something, well... normal?"

"Are you ashamed?"

"No! I mean. Not really. Maybe. Maybe a little."

"And apart from your feelings on the matter - do you trust Peter?"

"I thought I did," he frowned. "Until the whole Spider-Man thing..."

"Was his deception justified? Why did he hide it from you?"

"Because... because... I don't know! He says one thing and Dad says another and..."

"And who do you believe? Because that makes all the difference, Harry. Listen to yourself. You couch everything in terms of 'maybes' and 'I guesses.' You say that you love Peter and yet you refuse to place trust in him or take his word above your father's. You must decide, Harry. Decide who you are, what is important to you and who you trust."

"Easier said than done."

"It always is." He went and refilled the mug. "When did you start hearing the voice?"

Pausing for a moment, trying to think back and trace all of the instances to that one original occurence, he wrapped his hands around the mug as he recalled.

"It was after the Octavius incident, right before I found all my dad's stuff. I'd just unmasked Peter and let him go and that's when I saw him. In that big mirror. I smashed it and found his lab behind it," Harry told him in a low voice. "I didn't know what to think but after that it just got worse and worse."

"So you see him as well as hear him?"

"Yeah," he nodded, sipping the coffee.

"Do you always see him as a reflection? Or has he appeared to you independent of reflective surfaces? As though he were corporal?"

"Mostly as reflections, but I've seen 'him' once or twice I guess."

Murdock nodded although Harry wasn't sure what the other man was thinking. Hary forced a laugh just to break the silence. "You must think I'm crazy."

"No. Crazy is a demeaning word, first of all. From what you've told me, you've experienced a number of significant traumas that would be enough to imbalance anybody. You might genuinely need therapy to help you with the issues you've been forced to deal with - a process complicated, I'm well aware, by the fact that you can't allow many people to know about the circumstances surrounding your emotional disturbances. However, I'm not so sure that the problem lies entirely with you.

"If you heard your father before exposing yourself to the same substance that he did, that might be an indication that it isn't responsible; yet since it was in the same house and I - nor you, I suspect - do not have a full understanding of its properties, chemical and otherwise, that could be responsible at least in part. Are you aware of whether or not your father experienced any such hallucinations?"

Harry shook his head. "I couldn't tell you. He never really told me, or anybody in fact, stuff like that. If he was, he hid it."

"Well, we can't operate on either assumption, that he did or didn't. Were we able to operate on the solid fact that your father died, that would be helpful as well. You've expressed doubt about this, though, have you not?" He nodded. "Then that does leave another possibility open - that he is alive and is somehow deliberately manipulating you, technologically or mentally."

"Mentally?" Harry's eyebrows quirked up and his voice evidenced his disbelief.

"I know it sounds improbable. But every possible avenue should be explored."

Harry snorted. "It doesn't matter if it's him or just what I remember. It's all the same thing - he's the cause." His face darkened. "I tried so hard, you know that? I _wanted _to be the good son. But he just keeps demanding and demanding..."

He trailed off and they drank their coffee in silence for a while. Once he'd drained his mug, Harry sat back for a while, his eyes closed. Sitting up a few minutes later, he put the mug on the sideboard and turned towards Matthew with a nod.

"I'd better get back to Pete. I'll see you this afternoon?"

"Yes," Matthew assented, pulling on a suitcoat. "Should I meet you at the penthouse or out by the gravesite?"

"The cemetery will be fine. Four o'clock then?"

"Four o'clock."

Unlocking the door and letting Harry out, Matthew shut it behind him and, having no need to transport Harry, decided to forego driving to the office for a morning walk. Once it would have been a rather risky undertaking.

But Hell's Kitchen was shaping up.

_OOO_

There was a series of soft, shifting noises as Flint Marko reformed from a pile of sand into a shape that resembled his human body, when he'd had one. Looking around he took in the opulence of the penthouse with an uncomfortable gaze. Though Osborn had invited him, given the hour and the way in which he was so obviously out of place, he couldn't help feeling awkward, as though he were trespassing. Technically, he might be. He stood still for a moment, wondering where Osborn was and what he ought to do, when he heard a sound behind him.

He turned and his eyes widened when he saw the source.

"Parker?" Marko took in the sight of the boy, dumbfounded. There was no conceivable reason he could think of that Spider-Man should be there, but there he was in blue cotton pajamas, regarding Flint with equal surprise.

"Um. Hey." He gave Flint an awkward wave. "Harry said he'd talked to your daughter, invited you here. Didn't think you'd come by so soon."

"Yeah, well. Not much else to do. Given everything."

They both fell silent and looked around the room after a moment, avoiding each other's gaze. Peter turned back first.

"I... I peeked in his room. Harry's not here, I don't know where he went. But he'll be back pretty soon. I think." He frowned. "He might have just gone out for a moment," he told Flint, as much to reassure himself as inform the other man. "Care to take a seat?"

Flint cautiously settled into an armchair and gave Peter a strange look.

"So. You're here."

"Um, yeah. Came over to help with a few things. Stayed a bit late. He didn't mind if I stayed over."

"Oh. Well."

Neither knew exactly what to say or had the presence of mind to say or ask what they wished. So when they heard the ding of the elevator arriving on the top floor, it was a relief to both of them. They walked towards it, each with his own separate concerns but equally eager to find out what Harry had to say.

_OOO_

A/N: First a big thanks - the story has officially passed 10,000 hits :) So much gratitude goes out to all who are reading and enjoying it. Second, I know it was another heavily Harry-centric chapter. More on Peter next time. And finally, an overdue acknowledgement of the revival scene of Jason Todd in DC continuity, which helped to inspire the Harry-graveyard scene. That's all for now and I hope to see you again next chapter.


	14. Violent as the Grave

_OOO_

_  
_When he entered the apartment, Harry scarcely had time to step inside before being confronted with the site of a worried Peter Parker and an unsure Flint Marko. Flint hung back but Peter practically dragged Harry out of the elevator himself.

"Where were you? How long have you been gone? Are you OK? You aren't wearing your gear. Did you go out?"

For a moment, Harry was silent. Then he shook his head and gave Peter a quick smile.

"I just went to Matthew's. I needed to go over some legal stuff."

"Oh." A confused look crossed his face. "In the middle of the night? Half dressed in pajamas?"

"It was about that thing. For today. I'm a bit nervous." His excuse was flimsy but Peter didn't question him further. "Hello," he said directing a nod towards Flint. "I'm glad you came."

"Yeah. Uh, you said you wanted to talk to me?"

"I did. Come on and let's sit in the living room." He shifted a bit, realizing with a bit of discomfort that he was still in his pajama top. "Would you like anything to drink?"

"No. That's fine. Can't really handle liquids now."

"I see. That's right." Harry cleared his throat as they went into the living room again and sat down. "Look. I was hoping, if I could, I mean if you don't mind... I like to be able to help your daughter and wife."

Flint looked down at the floor. "Can't," he mumbled.

"I'm sorry?"

"You can't." He looked up at Harry, his face dark and agitated. "She's terminal. Nothing can help her. Not money, not medicine..."

"Oh." Harry looked crestfallen. "Are you sure?"

"That's what Doctor Wallace told me," he sighed impatiently. "I appreciate the effort and I wish there was something anybody could do..."

"Well, maybe I could do something else?" Harry offered desperately. "Couldn't I at least help them out with their living conditions?"

"Emma wouldn't accept it," Flint looked away. "She doesn't like charity and even if she would, she'd probably think I'd stolen it or something."

"It doesn't have to be. Look, if I'm understanding what Peter described about you - your powers - well... I think I could use somebody like you."

Turning back to Harry, Flint gave him a questioning glance. "What do you mean?"

"I could use someone with powers like yours. You can move earth, right?"

"Sand, mostly. Maybe other kinds of earth if I tried. I don't know. I haven't tested it out a whole lot yet."

"And you can make yourself into very fine particles?"

"Yeah..."

"I could use you as... well, as security. Here. At OsCorp. And other places I might need it."

Flint's initial reaction was to turn him down, for no other reason than the inherent awkwardness of working for people whom he'd tried to kill and who had done their best to kill him. But Harry's heart seemed to be in the right place and the thought of Penny spending her last days in that dump that was all her mother could afford did bother him. Besides, it wasn't as if he could find legitimate employment; he had a criminal record and even if he didn't, things like physicals and drug tests would require far too much explanation. He would spend the rest of his life running, forging and stealing.

Except here was a golden opportunity, with a wealthy man who already knew the best and the worst. For once, perhaps, it was a sign that his luck might be changing. That something could go right and, for the first time, somebody might be on his side.

"I guess..." He agreed hesitantly, taking the hand that Harry immediately proffered.

"Excellent! You will be well compensated, I assure you. I can give most of it directly to your wife, if you would like. I can ask my lawyer about what I can do so that she doesn't get slammed with taxes and nobody gets too suspicious. And I know it might look hopeless, but I will do my best to make sure there isn't anything out there that could help her."

"Thanks. That's... thanks."

"It's my pleasure," Harry told him and Flint didn't doubt it; for some reason, the boy seemed to brim with excitement at the thought of being able to help him. Just one of the connections and changes that night had wrought, Flint supposed. After all, given what Penny had told him and what he had seen, this boy had somehow gotten the ultimate second chance.

Peter, who had up until then been watching the proceedings in silence, cleared his throat. "Hey, Harry? I think I'm going to go get ready. I have a class or two I should attend and work to get to. I'll see you later at four?"

"Yes. Just meet us out there. Matthew and I will be there too. And if you need a change of clothes there should be things in the drawers. I had Bernard stock them. In case."

"OK. See you then." Peter walked off as if there had been nothing amiss, though if he had turned around he would have seen Flint glancing at him, slightly askance. What was with these two?

"And that brings me to what I would like your help with today, if you would be so good," Harry said to Flint, interrupting the other man's thoughts. "Exhuming a coffin." Flint recoiled a bit and looked slightly uncomfortable. "No, no," Harry assured. "I have allowance. It's... well, you see, it's my father's. My lawyer will be coming at four but we could be finished before then if you don't wish to be seen - not that he could see you," he reflected, "as he's blind, but I would understand if you wanted to be gone before it was opened. It just seems like a tremendous hassle, renting a backhoe and everything..."

"I can do it," Flint assured him. "Or at least I can try." The whole situation was a bit confusing and Harry seemed oddly attatched to this lawyer, what with midnight visits and everything, but he supposed that he wasn't paid to speculate. If what he was doing would put Penny in comfort, he had no problem with keeping his mouth shut and his head down.

"Thanks." He stood to go get dressed himself. "And if you'd like to start training or learning how to stretch your abilities - I'll see what can be done about that as well."

He left and Marko spread himself out in particle form; if he was going to be guarding the place, he supposed he ought to have a look around.

_OOO_

"PARKER!" Jameson thundered, distracting Peter from the sorting he was doing in his desk drawer. He was still getting used to the whole 'permanent position' thing, though he was enjoying despite the attendant awkwardness that arose from the whole Eddie Brock issue. "Parker, why haven't you gotten a picture of this slasher thing?"

"Sir? What?"

"This!" He thrust amateurish snapshots and police photos beneath Peter's nose of several men, their throats cut open and their guts spread across the pavement. Despite his other profession, it was all Peter could do to keep from retching at the sight. He wondered first, what could have done it, and secondly, why he hadn't sensed anything or known about it.

Remembering the incident in Connors' lab, he began to feel slightly ill. If something had gotten free - who knew where it could have gone, what it could have joined with or done?

"Parker!" Jameson was screaming again. "There's no witnesses to these, no reports of what this guy looks like..." He blew a puff of smoke. "I'll bet it's Spider-Man! Or his new friend! But whoever it is - I want a picture of them! Now! Tonight!"

"I'll see what I can do," Peter said with a private roll of his eyes as he took the file from Jameson. He agreed with him on one thing; he needed to find this creature, but it had nothing to do with getting the shot.

"Nasty," came a voice over his shoulder. He looked around.

"Oh, hey Betty."

"Hey Parker." She walked to her own desk, shaking her head. "Isn't that disgusting?"

"Yeah, it is. I haven't heard a lot about this though - when did these attacks happen?"

"One was a couple days ago, another last night." She started typing. "I'm not surprised though, that you haven't heard much - there's been news but it's not been particularly high profile."

"Why not?" Peter seemed slightly dumbfounded.

"The victims, well - let's just say they're not model citizens." Betty stopped for a moment to drink some of the tea she had on her desk before continuing to type. "Records of rape, theft, high blood alcohol levels at the time of death - I hate to say it, but I'm not so sure people care all that much. Nobody 'good' has been touched." She shrugged. "It will all come out in the end I suppose."

Another hero then? Or a murderer? Or someone merging the two? Peter sat down to read the file; he hated to mentally reference Star Wars - it made him feel even more like the geek that he was always assumed to be - but he had a very bad feeling about this.

_OOO_

Harry looked down at the sleek mahogany box, his mind filled with doubt, and not simply about his father. Mattew Murdock stood next to him in a long, black coat, his face impassive. Flint Marko had already left and they were waiting for Peter to arrive before doing anything further. The job the Sandman had done was smooth and admirable and Harry wondered if he should tell Flint about Murdock. He asked Matthew, who had requested that he hold off for the moment but allowed the possibility later, once Harry could be more sure of Flint.

Given the love Flint seemed to have for his daughter, Harry assumed that if he could help her Flint's loyalty would be something he was assured of and the day he could let Flint know would be sooner than Murdock might assume.

As they waited, Harry dug his toe into the dirt, still unsettled about the previous night and that morning's conversation. "You know, I couldn't tell Pete anyway," he murmured. "He's still technically with Mary Jane. No matter how awkward or tough it may be. Loves her, not me. Wants to marry her. And if they work it out - I'm not going to step between them. They're my best friends. I can't. I got between once before and it almost ruined everything. I'm not doing that again. I won't be the villain or the homewrecker or whatever you want to call it."

"Is that a reason? Or an excuse?"

"Can it be both?"

Any further discussion was cut short by the sight of Peter breathlessly running up the winding path towards the site where Norman had been interred. He gave them each a nod and Harry stepped closer to the casket.

"Shall we?" He flexed his hands and started to kneel when Peter suddenly grabbed his shoulder and sharply tugged him backwards.

"Stop!" He shouted. Harry tumbled to the muddy earth and Peter looked down at him. "You can't open that Harry. Something's wrong."

"What?" Harry looked apprehensively at him. "What's the matter?"

"I don't know for sure, but my Spider Sense is going crazy. Off the wall, as soon as you went to open it. There's something the matter here."

"Well then, what do you suggest we do?" He wondered, standing and brushing the dirt off of his pants.

Peter stopped and considered. "How about this. We'll get back, a safe distance, and I'll yank it open with webbing. There isn't anybody else around, is there?" He glanced around.

"Looks like we're alone. Even so, we'd better be quick about it. Come on," he pulled Peter back and Matthew followed the sound of their steps.

The three of them stood behind a large stone angel and Peter leaned out from the side. Gossamer threads sprang from his wrists planted themselves on the lids and he gave the lines a tug. The lid flew open and a fraction of a second later a concussive force burst forth along with fire and gouts of smoke. The three flattened themselves on the ground, though they could still feel bits of wood and debris striking them. When it came to a stop, they rushed over, Harry getting there first.

"Shit!" He screamed, half in rage and half in disbelief. "He rigged it! He knew! He knew or at least guess that some day, someone would come looking and... and..." He looked at Peter, confused and angry. "He knew it could have been me! He _knew! _Look! Freaking pumpkin bombs - he's mocking me! I can't... can't even... _why_?!" He was shaking and tears were beginning to leak from his eyes. "What was it? Some kind of idiotic test? Did he just not care that it might have been me? Was he just thinking you might come looking at some point?! Or was he _counting _on it being me? DAMN IT!" His voice was beginning to grow hoarse. He stormed away from the shards of the casket and then collapsed to his knees, pounding the earth with his hands. "It isn't fair, it's just... I didn't... not even now, and he's been out for who knows how long and..."

Peter walked over to him and knelt beside him, putting his hand on Harry's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Harry." Harry looked up at him with glassy, bloodshot eyes, his breath hitching as he struggled to get oxygen in between his sobs.

"Why, Pete?" He whispered. "Why does he hate me so damn much?"

"Harry..."

"Don't tell me he doesn't!" He sprang to his feet, wiping his eyes with his coat cuff. "And you know what?" He growled. "That's what pisses me off the most - that the only one of us who had the guts to say the truth like it was, was you when you had that damn suit on! When you hated me!"

"No, Harry. The thing that's doing this, it isn't your father. He lov-"

"Don't say it Peter," he snapped. "Don't even say it. He didn't. He didn't and you know it but you're trying not to hurt me. Except," he swallowed and panted, his throat feeling like it was closing. "Except that maybe sometimes I need to be hurt. So that I learn." He touched the damaged side of his face.

"Oh Harry," Peter whispered. He walked over, reached up and took Harry's hand off of his face, holding it in his own. "I'm sorry," Peter spoke softly.

Exhaling, and quaking inside, Harry shook his head. "It's not your fault. Now come on; we need to get this cleaned up and, in all likelyhood, provide some sort of explanation for the explosion."

"Remove any metal bits that might be lying around and say that the gasket was closed too tightly, and that this plus the disturbance of moving it resulted in an explosion due to bacterial decomposition and the resulting gases. This will also account for the lack of a body due to liquefaction," Matthew suggested in a professional, clipped tone.

Harry gave him a strange look but Peter nodded, the explanation making complete sense from his perspective. "That should work," he agreed.

"And then," Matthew said in a lower tone, his voice becoming sympathetic. "I think you should get home and rest and think. You have a lot to do, both of you - but I want you to take care of yourselves. Understand?"

Faced with the destruction and feeling numb, Harry could only nod.

_OOO_

A/N: So yes, the big opening scene. Finally got there and I hope you all enjoyed reading about it. More will be up shortly, and I again promise to do more from Peter's perspective.


	15. Where He Ought to Be

_OOO_

After they cleared up the worst of the wreckage and made sure that nothing scorched or metal was left over, Matthew contacted the owner of the cemetary for sanitization purposes. Not that it was actually necessary, but if a bacterial build-up was going to be their charade they needed to behave as though it had actually happened and a cleanup was needed. The entire job was finished before eight o'clock, but when they finally left Harry felt as though he'd been there for ages. His mind was reeling from all that had happened and, to make matters worse, Peter had an obligation with Mary Jane and Matthew had another case to work on, meaning that Harry was faced with the prospect of an evening alone.

Matthew parted with them at the cemetary, though not before scheduling a workout session with Peter and Harry on the weekend. Peter accompanied Harry back to his penthouse, keeping an eye on the time so he wouldn't break his engagement. By the time they returned all Harry wanted to do was go to sleep. Bernard was there to greet him and ask him if he needed anything, as non-plussed as ever when Harry described his day and even when Marko materialized next to Harry to tell him that all was secure within the building. Briefly Harry wondered where it was that butlers got trained in order to be so impassive.

Once both of the others had left, Peter and Harry sat in silence. Harry wanted to beg him to stay, to refuse to abandon him for Mary Jane, but found that he had not the courage. It was too close to an admission, too similar to the greed that Harry feared he exhibited in all of his actions.

Peter looked at Harry, saw the bags under his eyes and wondered how much of the night Harry spent lying awake, haunted by nightmares and memories. Suddenly, Mary Jane seemed the remotest and most unimportant demand on his life. She was well and whole, however difficult her job search was. Harry, in comparison, had just survived a post-mortem murder attempt by his imbalanced father. Given his past brushes with alcoholism, Peter feared that he might turn to the bottle for comfort without anyone else to help him through; even the presence of Bernard and Flint did not reassure him.

No, Peter felt, it ought to be him. Guilt was difficult to assign, but he played a role in Harry's madness as well as Norman. He withheld information from Harry, out of an earnest but misguided sense of loyalty and affection, and had not been there for him in any of the ways which the boy had needed. How could he abandon him now that they'd been given another chance? If there was any time to shirk a date, it ought to be now. Instead of running out to mumbled pleasantries over a dinner he couldn't afford, he ought to remain where he could do good, good that he was certain only _he _could do.

As the minutes ticked by, he watched Harry, who was trying his hardest not to look too much at Peter, and felt an urge to fold his arms around Harry and press him close, make him forget this day and every other day that had gone wrong between them. But it was dangerous to forget and, as Harry had pointed out, perhaps some pain was for the best.

It didn't stop him from feeling pain at seeing Harry hurt, however.

When it got so late that he absolutely had to leave, he stood and walked over to Harry, giving him one last comforting pat before they parted wordlessly. His want to stay with Harry clashed with his concern over the offense Harry might take at him doting too much; he'd nearly sounded like Aunt May that morning, fretting over where Harry had been. The obligation to MJ also began to weigh more on his mind; she was, after all, supposed to be important to him. Feeling somewhat uneasy and slightly disgusted with himself, Peter left out of the window in silence.

Moments after he was gone, when the only reminder that he'd ever been there was the breeze entered through the unshut window, Harry buried his face in his hands and wept, his wants and the ache that came from denying them gnawing at his insides. Before long his face was moist and tears were beginning to puddle in his palms.

_Harry. You aren't angry about today, are you? You know that was meant for him, not you. Never for you..._

His nails dug into his forehead and traces of blood soon mixed with the saltwater.

_OOO_

Almost as soon as he'd set foot inside the Italian place that he'd agreed to meet Mary Jane, Peter began regretting his decision. He found his mind wandering away from what she was saying and back to thoughts of Harry. Dozens of 'what ifs' cropped up in his mind, each progressively worse than the last. What if he was drinking again? He had the previous night, though not too badly; but who knew how far he might have gone had Peter not walked in? He might be inflicting bodily harm upon himself, might be doing something reckless, might be depressed, might be alone and troubled.

"So I might get a chorus role, which would be a foot in the door at least."

"Oh yeah, that's great!" Peter attempted to force enthusiasm and shook another dusting of parmesan over his pasta. "I really hope you get it."

"Same here," she sighed. "You have no idea how much."

"You know," he cleared his throat, "I think Harry and I might move back in together again."

"Oh?" She quirked an eyebrow and ate another forkful of pasta. "Like in college?"

"Yeah. We thought it'd be good for, you know, coordinating things. Plus I think he could really use the help right now. He's having a tough time and I'm a little bit worried about him lapsing back into drinking. There were... problems today too. His father, well - let's just say nothing good is coming of it. Poor Harry," he murmured, a look of intense pain creasing his face.

She nodded thoughtfully and took a bite. Then she looked up at Peter who was taking a sip of wine. "Peter? Who won the Best Leading Actress in a Musical in 2004?" She questioned him with an abrupt air.

"Idina Menzel for _Wicked_," he replied without missing a beat, continuing to eat.

Mary Jane chewed for a moment and picked up her glass of water. "What about Best Revival, 2005?"

"_La Cage aux Folles_." He reached for a piece of bread.

"And Best Musical, 1987?"

"_Les Miz_. What's with the twenty questions?" He asked her blankly.

"Oh, nothing. Just a conversation I was having with one of the other actresses waiting in line today. We were disagreeing over some trivia and I was trying to remember."

"Ah. Ok." He set his fork down. "Look, MJ, I know I need to spend more time with you. But today was really rough and I think I should make sure he's OK. Maybe go out patrolling, get his mind off of things. Besides, there's some slasher-thing taking out people and not only should I check it out as, well, you know, but Jameson wants pictures. Shouted at me for a good five, ten minutes about it. You don't mind if I take off early to start my rounds? Just this once?"

For a moment, she considered voicing her disproval, then gave him a weary smile and shook her head. "Go get 'em Tiger."

His smile was much more enthusiastic. Taking out his wallet, he left her a few twenties to cover the bill and taxi fare back home, then strolled out of the restaurant and into the alley. If he hurried, he could be back at the penthouse in under five minutes.

Back inside, she had his meal boxed while she finished hers - no use letting food go to waste. Then she reflected on the evenings conversation, shaking her head and mildly berating herself.

Well _shit_. Now she almost knew how John had felt.

_OOO_

Afraid that Bernard or Flint might hear, Harry retreated into the one of the few sacrosanct areas of the mansion, his bedroom; the only other possibility being the hidden room behind the mirror, a place he now feared to tread when Norman's madness gripped him. He stood in the dark, his eyes adjusting more quickly than they should have to the low levels of light. Sucking in a deep breath, he'd tried to remember what scant advice he'd gleaned from Matthew the other night.

"Not meant for me?" He snapped. "How could you know that?"

_Because I never believed you would be so thoughtless as to violate my grave._

Shaking his head violently, as if to dispel the twisting guilt he felt inside, Harry tried to refocus.

"Thoughtless? It was a natural conclusion. You knew I might come looking."

_I had no idea. None. I love you, Harry..._

"No! You don't! Did you even think I might open it? Or are your opinions of my abilities just that low?"

_I already explained, son. I did not think you would do something so... inappropriate._

"Inappropriate?" His voice was strained. "Tell me, Dad - were you even in there? Because I'm almost sure you weren't. Are you just hiding from me?" Silence. "WHERE ARE YOU?" He bellowed. No answer was forthcoming and in his frustration, Harry began to tear apart the room, flinging sheets and pillows, upturning drawers, pulling clothes off hangers and kicking fabric into corners. His last shred of self-restraint kept him from shattering anything glass, fearing for himself as much as anything else. Once the room had been reduced to a fabric-strewn wreck, he fell his knees.

_Son. You should have asked him to open it. He would have done it for you, you know. In fact, perhaps your... deviance could be useful._

"Is that what you call it?" He clutched the expensive fabrics piled in front of him.

_Take him in. He is not beyond your seduction, I trust._

"I don't even know. And there's MJ... he might say 'no' anyway..." Harry did not want to believe his father, but to deny any truth in his words would be to put Peter beyond any hope of romantic connection.

_Be all that he wishes you to be. Placate your own... desires... if you must, while you are at it. After he is dead, none will ever need know you indulged in them. Simply pull him close and once he is there, once you have had your fill - the knife Harry._

"I tried that. Never again. No more. And stop talking to me that way!" He punched a nearby pillow. "Like I'm some freak!"

_Harry..._

"Shut up! I don't want to hear anymore!"

_You will NEVER stop hearing, Harry!_

"Then I'll stop listening!" He swallowed. "Just go away. I don't want your life, your burden..."

_He will abandon you, you must trust me on this. They always do. I alone am here for you, am constant. We could have done so much together - and still might..._

"No, no, no... Peter was right, you despised me, didn't want me, cast me aside until I was convenient for you to use..."

_I wanted you to grow. Necessary pain - right Harry?_

Inside of his chest, his heart plummeted.

"Just... just SHUT UP already!" He turned and saw Norman, smiling indulgently with a hint of madness, in a mirror hanging over his dressed. Enraged, he punched it, then recoiled and stared, dumbfounded at his bleeding hand. Once more he fell to his knees, shaking. Moments later he felt hands on his back, easing him up and attempting to look at the wounds on his hands.

"Dad?" The hushed word fell from his lips; then he looked up into the wide, concerned eyes of Peter Parker.

"Harry!" He began hastily removing shards of the mirror from Harry's hands, trying to sop up the blood with anything he could grab nearby. "Oh God, Harry, why didn't you tell me?!"

"Didn't want you to think I was crazy..." he mumbled. "He's making me crazy."

_Don't you dare, Harold!_

"Shut up!" He jerked and looked around wildly. "Can't you hear him? No, no, of course not, it's just me he wants, only me he wants to drag with him down to hell..."

Guiding Harry into the bathroom adjoining his bedroom, Peter washed out the wounds and bandaged them as best he could. Then he gave in to his earlier impulse and gathered Harry in his arms, ignoring the discomfort of the cold tile floor that they sank down on.

"No... not here, the mirrors, he uses the mirrors..." Harry begged, his body trembling as though he were cold.

Peter nodded and coaxed him out into the bedroom. Looking around, he saw that the room was in too much disarray for Harry to sleep there, with only a matress for him to rest on. Offering Harry his hand, which the boy took gingerly, Peter lead the young millionaire into the room he'd slept in the previous night. While Harry crawled into bed, wincing as the pain from the wounds began to fully catch up with him, Peter went into Harry's bedroom and grabbed sheets, then returned and draped whatever reflective surfaces he could see with fabric. Scrapping his plans to patrol, he dragged an armchair over to Harry's bedside and kept watch.

He was more exhausted than before, but as he watched Harry fitfully sleep and struggled to stay awake himself, Peter Parker was no longer haunted by the misgivings that had nagged at him earlier that evening. At that moment, he felt the peace of being exactly where he ought to be with the certainty of knowing he was doing precisely what he should be doing.

_OOO _

A/N: So a little more of Peter, and the plot will begin to move more quickly next chapter. Also, after reading the reviews, I agree that the part with Matthew last chapter was a bit out of place. I deleted that and made a couple grammatical corrections I noticed; the price I pay for not having a beta and favoring speed over strenuous editing, I suppose. I might go back and correct errors in other chapters too, as I notice them. With that, I hope you enjoyed, would appreciate a review if you feel so inclined and will see you next chapter.


	16. Suspicion and Guilt

_OOO_

Rather than going home, Mary Jane instead took the cab to Aunt May's apartment. It was barely twilight when she knocked at the door and the elderly lady answered quickly, opening the door and letting the young woman in. Somewhere in the background there was the sound of a television playing an evening gameshow.

"Mary Jane!" She exclaimed as if she'd just been given a surprise gift. "How are you dear? Do sit down. Can I get you anything to eat or drink?"

"I just had dinner," she gestured to the box of leftovers, "But something to drink would be nice."

"What's on your mind?" She put on water for tea and got out a couple of mugs.

"Aunt May..." The red-head bit her lip. "I don't want you to take this the wrong way. But you know a lot about Peter, right?"

"Of course. Love him like he's my own son."

"Then you're probably the best one to ask. I've just been thinking lately - are you _sure _Peter likes girls?" She was afraid that the older woman might lash out at her for suggesting such a thing, but she seemed remarkably unplussed.

"What would make you say that, dear?" She put a couple of tea bags into the cups.

"Just recently..." She sighed. "I mean, he wanted to propose to me - but he's never even tried to sleep with me. And maybe that's just him being him. But - he's a guy. Never even tried to cop a feel. And even John - who was really great, whatever happened between us - did stuff like that every now and again. I'm not saying I don't think guys should be gentlemen. But... I don't know. All Peter ever wanted to do was cuddle and kiss and nothing more. Which was alright, I guess. It was a little bit weird, but I always chalked it up to Peter being shy and polite.

"Now, though, I'm not so sure. I know this is going to sound weird but - ever since Harry's been back, Peter's been acting really strangely. Not that it's been very long, but even so. He spends a ton of time at the penthouse, hasn't been to his apartment in days, he's never there when I call or visit. And he gets this... this _look _when he talks about Harry and what they're doing and stuff. Keeps making up excuses to go over and see him and stay with him all night. Like, every night since Harry's been back. And the way he looked at him when Harry was dying, the way he looked at the funeral - he gives off this vibe, you know?

"Then at dinner tonight, he did it _again_. Cut out early to go be with Harry. Maybe it was a legitimate reason - but this is constant! And I started thinking - Peter's always been sensitive. And he always came to my plays and everything when he could, never even complained or protested. He knows more about Broadway plays than I do! I asked! Maybe I'm being stereotypical, but John barely remembered the name of the plays I was in, let alone anything else. And nevermind about a production I wasn't in. But Peter knows. Everything together - his slow moving, blasé nature towards me, his knowledge, his actions, his attitude towards Harry, even the running around in spandex - it all seems to add up."

She watched the tea steep and then stirred in a few spoonfuls of sugar before looking at Aunt May, distressed.

"I think Peter might be in love with Harry," she concluded, bracing herself for a barrage of denials or at least a dismissal of her fears.

The older lady, however, merely quirked an eyebrow at her and took a sip of her own tea. "Well, then, what do you think you should do?"

"I don't know! That's the problem!" She sighed. "Everything I know, even my 'intuition' if that's what you'd like to call it, says this. But technically we're still dating and - what if I'm wrong? Peter's a great guy. I feel something for him, even if it's complicated. But I don't want to be some replacement or surrogate or something like that.

"It's absurd to be jealous, I know that. But I can't help feeling that he's trying to avoid me in favor of Harry. And then there's the problem of Harry himself. He's barely convalescing and Peter's always hanging over him. I don't know if he's coming on to Harry or anything, but to complicate things with unwanted attention - it might be more than Harry can handle right now. And I'd hate to see everything get messed up again for Harry just because Peter doesn't realize what he's doing. I mean, I can't imagine Peter would deliberately try to do something, now that he's gotten... everything sorted. He's not that type of a person. But he might be unconsciously making Harry feel awkward.

"I don't want to say anything to Harry, if I'm incorrect. That might make him suspect Peter's intentions when there's nothing there. And I don't want to confront Peter if I'm wrong - we're having enough difficulty as it is without me telling him I think he's gay. I mean - I suppose the problem is that I don't know. If he is or what I should do if he is or anything like that. So I came here to get your opinion."

A long moment of silence passed between them and Aunt May drained more of her tea before she began. "Well... it is a bit difficult, isn't it?" She took a plate of cookies out and offered them to Mary Jane. "Peter has always been a boy with some secrets; not that I ever doubted the sincerity of his affection towards you, dear. And as for a definite answer on the matter of his sexuality, even I could not tell you that for absolutely sure - but Peter has always been a close friend of both you and Harry. As for your other concern - in my experience, it's best if you allow things to sort themselves out. I know that can seem difficult, but interference can cause as many problems as it solves or more - and often results in resentment towards the one interfering. I know he's been through a great deal; but Harry's a man and can make his own decisions about what to do with unwanted attention. I'm sure he faced enough of it in school, given his wealth."

"But from his best friend? Thinking Peter's consoling him when he's up there mooning over him?"

"That might complicate the issue. But the line between friendship and romance has been tread before, has it not?"

"Every time it was things went, well, pretty badly," MJ admitted, thinking back to her kiss with Harry and the disasters it precipitated.

"Do you believe that you have learned any lessons from those times?"

"That sometimes it's good to draw a line so you don't lose the friendship and any other relationships?"

"Then perhaps they will both know to draw lines and respect boundaries without resentment." She shrugged. "And perhaps it is nothing - at least nothing romantic. After all, Harry did go through something extremely difficult. Is it any wonder that Peter would feel somewhat protective?"

"I know, I know. It's just - things feel different now. I can't quite describe it."

"Give it time, Mary Jane. Things will work out."

"Some things, maybe," she sighed. "I don't know, Aunt May. Peter's a great guy. But... well, regardless of his sexuality, I'm not sure I'm right for him anymore. And that's a 'me' thing, not a Peter thing."

The older woman nodded. "Well, it is better to recognize such incompatabilities now before taking matters too far and entering into marriage where there is insufficient affection. Sometimes strong friendship can masquerade as love, but it is not enough to withstand the rigors of a long-term commitment like marriage."

"I suppose," Mary Jane sighed, peering into the empty mug. "Thanks for having this talk with me. I'll... I'll try to do what's best for Peter."

"Any time, dear. And I hope that whatever happens you three will remain friends."

"I think we can manage that," MJ replied, giving her a weak smile.

She gave May a quick hug before heading out the door with a small wave. On the cab ride home, she kept her gaze focused on the window, looking not out at the city speeding by but rather at her reflection in the glass. Deep down, she knew what she needed to do.

That never made it any easier.

_OOO_

Nestling under the warmth of the blankets, Harry wondered if he could stay there and sleep forever. His hands ached but it was only a dull pain, far from the acute, stabbing sensations he'd fallen asleep trying to ignore. Twisting his head to the side, he opened his eyes a crack and saw Peter slumped in a chair next to the bed, sleeping himself; Harry wondered how late Peter had managed to stay awake before finally succumbing. Since it was early and dawn had not yet disturbed him, Harry allowed himself a fond look at Peter; his youth was even more pronounced when he was sleeping, his mouth slightly open and his hair mussed. His features were fresh and smooth, with the relaxation of sleep erasing any lines of worry or care, and the way he was draped in the arm chair made him appear delicate in a way that belied the strength Harry knew he possessed.

In that moment, Harry's desires to keep him safe surged back and a compelling sensation to take Peter in his arms struck him. Which was, he supposed, a bit ironic considering that, of late, Peter was the one doing the protecting and the holding. One more concrete example of the uselessness his father's voice always alleged, Harry supposed.

His father. The problem around which his entire life seemed to revolve. The voices and the Goblin issues aside, in was purely frustrating to feel the control of a parent from beyond the grave. It made Harry appalled at his own weakness whenever he thought about it. Why should his father have such a hold on him? He was an adult; he should be making his own decisions. But even without the voice, he always seemed to find himself considering whether or not his actions would have met with his father's approval, how his life would measure up compared next to Norman's.

That alone was enough to drive a person crazy, voices in ones head aside.

Unable to get back to sleep, he threw aside the covers and began picking at the makeshift bandages on his hands - really nothing more than a mess of gauze and band-aids from the bathroom's medicine cabinet. Once removed he flexed his hands and examined them; teh cuts were mostly healed, save for a few red lines here and there where the deeper abrasions had been. A glance at Peter made him decide to let the boy sleep until he woke himself, so in the interest of not disturbing him, Harry retreated into his own torn-up room to take a shower.

As soon as he was finished in the shower, he went to shave the one half of his face whose follicles were still fuctional - only to find himself confronted with his father's face once more.

_Look at you Harry. You used to be handsome. Look at what he did to your face - and yet you still delude yourself, thinking him your friend?_

He dropped the razor with a clatter, just as he had the last time his father appeared in this particular mirror. "Damn it!" He wiped the blood off the slight cut he'd made on his chin and planted his hands on either side of the marble sink. Looking into the mirror, he could see Norman's glowering face, with its menancing craggy features, next to his own badly mangled one - a nearly comical sight as he was half-covered in shaving cream. "Peter, Dad? Really? Because as I recall it was a pumpkin bomb that did this. A weapon you made and pushed me into using along with that crazy serum."

_You mean the serum that saved your life when Peter would have endangered and killed you? And it was a bomb that he threw..._

"No, Dad!" He slammed his hands for emphasis and pointed at his chest. "Yeah, he might have returned the favor and then left me to bleed. But I threw it! _I_ goaded him, _I_ fought with him, _I_ threw the damn explosive, it was as much my fault as his... or yours." Picking up the razor, he made quick, sharp strokes and then rinsed his face. "So don't go blaming this all on Peter." He dried his face off with a towel then threw it onto the top of a wicker hamper. "And could you try and shut the hell up until I've at least had breakfast?" Harry snapped and stormed out of the bathroom in his robe, sifting through his dresser and closet for whatever he hadn't thrown on the floor in a wrinkled ball.

Perhaps Peter would be up to making breakfast with him before running off to class. Omelets were out of the question but waffles were a distinct possibility.

_OOO_

A/N: Peter's perspective will be back next chapter and we'll get to see a little more of Gwen and the problems she's poised to cause. As ever, I hope you enjoyed and I'll see you next chapter.


	17. Quiet Seduction

_OOO_

Peter awoke to find Harry's bed empty and he berated himself for falling asleep. He stood up to go looking for Harry, but ran into the man himself before he'd even left the room. He was already showered and dressed, looking clean and neat despite the slight abrasion on his chin.

"Hey Harry," he grinned. "Good to see you up and about." He yawned and breathed in. "Mmmm. You smell nice. Clean. Like soap."

"Oh. Yeah." Harry blushed. "Thanks. Took a shower." He cleared his throat and even he knew his heart was racing this time. "Say, would you like to come make breakfast? I know you have to get to class and all, but it won't take long. Promise."

"It's fine. I don't have to go for about an hour or so anyway." Peter ran a hand through his hair sheepishly. "But do you think I could get washed and dressed first?"

"No problem," Harry laughed. "You know where everything is. I'll start setting out ingredients. Join me in the kitchen when you're done."

"Thanks. And... Harry?" He rubbed his shoulder. "You don't need to hide things like last night from me. Alright? I understand. I've seen a lot and I'm not going to judge you for it or anything. No more secrets, remember? I'll wait until you're ready, of course, but I hate seeing you hurting yourself like that, keeping those things in. OK?"

He nodded with downcast eyes and was silent for a moment. "We'd better hurry," he said suddenly. "Don't want you to be late for class."

With that, Harry disappeared down the hall and Peter turned to the bedroom. Once again there was a variety of clean clothing in the drawers, most of them still unused from the last time. It must be nice, he mused, to have enough money to finance multiple wardrobes for yourself and for guests. Or perhaps it was only Peter who got such attention; he wondered if the other guest rooms had clothes for women or people of different sizes than he was. Maybe his clothes were just ones that Harry didn't feel like using and stuck in an extra room - they were fairly close in size and shape. Whatever the reason, though, he was glad they were there. Whatever it was that Bernard or the housekeeper or whomever used to wash them made the fabric soft and pleasant-smelling, luxuries he didn't have at home where 'clean' meant 'not visibly dirty or abhorrently smelly.'

While he showered, Peter wondered whether or not Harry had cleaned up the room from the previous evening. From what he'd seen the place had been rather torn up, but most of the mess seemed to be limited to sheets and clothing with the exception of the one broken mirror. Privately he felt it was no wonder Harry had eventually snapped and trashed the place. Everything in the penthouse seemed to be dark and foreboding; opulent, to be sure, but filled with deep colors and bizarre, even haunting, artifacts like those masks that hung on the wall. There were no pictures of friends, no bright colors, nothing at all like that. Just lots of mahogany and burgundy and decorations like lamps and tapestries that you felt you weren't supposed to touch. Despite Norman's death, the place was still most definitely his house.

Perhaps he could do something about that. Get him to take down, maybe even sell, some of the useless collectables. They might be valuable to somebody and even of artistic import, but there was no sense having them around the place when Harry clearly didn't care for them. Better that they go to someone who would appreciate them and let Harry develop his own sense of style. Something that lent itself to a more 'normal' existence that a twenty-something would have. He could even put things in storage, if that's what he wanted, as long as he didn't have to stare at them every day.

Although Peter had to admit, part of it was his own discomfort. He liked coming over to see Harry but that was about all he enjoyed. The place gave him the creeps while he was in high school and in many ways it still did. He almost felt as though he could sense ghosts about the place; small wonder that Harry would, living here all the time. Making a mental note he decided to approach Harry about it at the first good opportunity.

When he came out to get dressed he did notice, however, that there was a rather well-done picture of New York City hanging above his bed. It was a night time scene but was oddly pleasant, with lights that almost twinkled and a silvery moon casting a glow. It brought to mind memories of nighttime patrols when crime was low and there was just him, swinging through the cool air and loving every moment. Examining the picture more closely, he saw that the name signed to it was Harry's own. He was slightly surprised; Harry had gotten _good_.

Buttoning up his shirt, Peter smoothed the fabric down and went to go find Harry.

_OOO_

If there was one invention, one piece of technology, that Harry Osborn appreciated above all others, it had to be the iPod, he decided. Right now his was docked into a speaker system in the kitchen and playing a variety of tunes; normally he set it on shuffle and let it go. At the moment it was broadcasting the voices of Andrea McArdle and Reid Shelton.

_"Together at last! Together for ever! We're tying a knot they never can sever!"  
"I don't need sunshine now..."_

As he set ingredients out, he hummed along; by and by he grew so occupied he barely noticed the lyrics or heard Peter come in while he was busy cleaning strawberries in the sink.

_"Yesterday was plain awful..."  
"You can say that again."  
_

Slipping into the room quietly, Peter smiled when he saw Harry working and humming. It was a cheerful song; Peter had always been fond of _Annie_.

_"...not now..."  
"...That's then!"_

Rather than verbally inform Harry of his presence, Peter yanked the knife Harry was cutting up the strawberries with out of his hand with a line of webbing.

"Hey!" He spun around to find Peter, grinning. "You could have just told me you were there."

"Yeah, but then I would have missed the look on your face. Which, by the way, was priceless." Playing around, Peter grabbed a spoon that Harry had set out for mixing the batter, brandishing it like a microphone. "I'm poor as a mouse," he joined in with the music, albeit in a lower register.

"I'm richer than Midas," Harry joined in while rinsing off the strawberries one last time.

"But nothing on earth could ever divide us!" They sang in unison and as Harry went to put the bowl of fruit on the table the drew quite near one another. Startled, Harry fell silent and turned away with a blush.

_"I don't need anything but you!" _The song finished and the playlist moved forward to something instrumental. Harry cleared his throat.

"Come on. How about you start measuring out the flour and I'll crack the eggs?"

Peter nodded and began sifting the flour which Harry seperated the eggs and began beating the whites into peaks. Once they came out of the iron and were covered in strawberries and whipped cream, the waffles were quite good; but somehow Harry failed to taste much of them or, in fact, notice much else during breakfast. Not long after, Peter left for class while Harry cleared off the table and then went to work at the computer in the office.

His father, given the fact that he seemed to have escaped, must have needed money and Harry needed to sort through the finaces from months and years ago in an attempt to find out where Norman might have gone and, hopefully, where he might be and what he might be doing. The fact that the work served as a distraction from the emotions that were more insistent than ever was an added benefit that Harry did not wish to dwell much upon.

_OOO_

Peter tried to focus on Dr. Connor's lecture without much success. Rather than concentrating on science, his mind continued to come back to Harry. He had been so at ease and then all of a sudden... what was that? What had caused the change? Peter could think of nothing unusual that might have spurred it. Perhaps he was not feeling well, still disconcerted by Norman who, alive or dead, seemed intent on tormenting him; if that was the cause then, he felt, he ought not have left. Harry might slip into the same kind of self-destructive behavior Peter had seen in the past, or worst.

There were hours between when he left the penthouse and when his school and work would be finished and he could return to the penthouse. Somehow he already sense that they were going to pass very slowly. Attending the class lectures was not worthwhile, he had no good news for Jameson about the slasher incidents - not that good news, when it came, ever cheered the man up for any length of time - and all the while Harry might need him. It was a waste of a day, but he forced himself to focus. He needed the grades and he needed the job - although neither, something suggested, as much as he needed Harry.

After all, courses could be retaken and new jobs could be found. But what could replace a friend so near to him?

"Penny for your thoughts, Peter," Gwen Stacy insinuated herself next to him as they left the lecture hall. "You seem far away today."

"Hunh? Oh. Hey Gwen. Yeah, I guess I am. Worried about somebody."

"Mary Jane?" She guessed. "Or..." A playful look, edged with what might have been shades of malice, came into her eyes. "Is it somebody else?"

"A friend," he admitted.

"Really? What sort of friend?"

"An old one. From high school."

"I see." A name flew into her head at that moment. _Harry Osborn_. It knew, so she knew. "Tell you what Peter - you seem so wound up, why don't we go out tonight. You know, just to relax?"

"But... but I can't. Mary Jane," he fumbled for an explanation. "We're still, I mean were not..."

"Oh come on. Don't make excuses." Her lips curved in a smile that could have almost been called sweet. "Can she really respect you as a person? Give you what you need? What you deserve?" Gwen leaned in closer. "Does she kiss you half as well as I did?"

"As you did?" Peter frowned, confused and a bit terrified. "We never kissed. The date ended before we did."

"You don't remember?" She whispered. "I do. When I gave you the key." Peter thought as though his knees were going to give way. She cleaned the labs, that must have been it, and who knew how long... A tendril of black and red moved about her neck and it occured to him that it wasn't jewelry she was wearing, a stupid thought for the moment given what he was seeing. She reached up and drew his face down to hers, and he, paralyzed with panic, complied. "We've missed you, Peter." A long tongue slid down his throat and yet he found himself unable to manage tearing himself away.

He needed to stay. Needed to keep track of the symbiote. Needed to protect those whom it might have knowledge of. He couldn't take another confrontation like the one with Venom, for who knew what he might lose this time?

_OOO_

Had Gwen Stacy been asked a few weeks before whether or not she found her life lacking, she would have most certainly denied it. One never did know what one was missing until it was shown and made apparent. She'd never noticed the fact that her easy-going nature allowed men to pass her by, see her as a friend while they found love in other, fiercer women. Nor had she been troubled by the lingering frustrations that came when her father related his troubles to her, watching criminals slip through his grasp now and again and expressing dismay at the filth that freely wandered the streets.

Now she felt as though she could see clearly. Time had been wasted; time spent on accepting friendship instead of seeking more, giving up what she wanted, watching the world pass her by and degrade itself even further. It had come to her gradually, little by little, day by day; and it had known Peter, even Eddie as well. The memories were distant, as if they were coming from a far away transmission. About a week in, it struck her that this must have been what transformed Eddie so greatly. But he had always been weak; even with power he had not known how to handle it, letting himself be handled instead.

The key, she told herself, was to take the situation firmly in hand and use it to ones own end. Suddenly, and without a doubt, she knew what she wanted. Peter Parker - a sensitive genius, too good for that red-headed failure of a songstress - and her father's job to be easier. Scum was everywhere and it could be given a good cleaning; besides, what was the harm in being a siren? If they were lured to their deaths, it was their own fault for allowing themselves to be drawn in. The suit, for that was what Peter always called it, merely gave her the chance to make such desires come true. Good desires; a deserving match, a benefit to society - not the self-centered, short-sighted goals that had consumed Eddie.

No, she knew what to do. And exactly how to go about doing it. Sauntering in to the Constellation restaurant, Peter at her side and her head held high, she spoke to the head waiter in flawless French and settled down to enjoy her evening, whether Peter liked it or not. The suit liked him too, rough as their relationship had been, and she was sure that Peter would come to accept it and her.

He simply needed to be shown.

_OOO_

A/N: Another problem gets added to the pile. But no worries; someone might just come to the rescue ;) It will all be dealt with over the next few chapters. I'm glad you're reading, hope you're enjoying - and as always, reviews are tremendously appreciated. If you have a moment, I shall return the favor and recommend Roulette by SerpentsAttire; it is an excellent work though it does tread into 'M' territory. And with that, I will see you next chapter. _  
_


	18. Revelation

_OOO_

The glass of the wine bottle clinked when it came in contact with the rim of Peter's wine glass, as Gwen poured him a measure of expensive Merlot. Then she filled her own glass and, after setting the bottle down, raised it in toast.

"To us," she said with a sardonic smile.

"Gwen, don't do this," Peter whispered in a low, urgent voice. "You saw what it did to Eddie - took him over, completely devoured him. It makes you into someone you aren't, takes over your life. Don't give into it Gwen. I know how to remove it, there's still a chance..."

"Sound vibrations, right?" She took a sip of wine. "It remembers. From it's other part - that was rather callous of you, Peter. But don't think we'll be so careless. We've learned better than to stray somewhere that would give you such an opportunity. No more church towers for you."

"You aren't listening - that thing is... is evil!"

"Evil? Hardly." She set down her glass and sighed. "You know, for the first time in my life, it feels as though I finally have a chance to act on my own behalf. All my life, I've played the role of the good girl, the good friend, the good student. To finally have the strength to break out of those roles - it's breathtaking!" She shook her head. "We can't understand why you would throw it all away. Did it not benefit you? You learned to stand strong where in life you were once knocked down and trod upon. My only complaint is that you used us," she reached out and took his hand, patting it. "But we forgive you."

Recoiling, Peter snatched his hand away. "It isn't like that. It starts out like that, feeling good, as though it's making you strong. But I ended up hurting a lot of people. I almost lost myself."

"You forget, Peter, that it retains many of your memories. I know how and why you acted. Upon whom did you act without provocation? Harry tried to kill you, make you suffer - only fitting that he should be repaid in kind. And Mary Jane, well, if I had known then what I know now, I should have never left your side that evening. I should have helped in her humiliation. Can't you even see how pathetic she is? Always needing to be rescued, wanting to distract you, never solving her problems for herself. You should have cast off that useless baggage as soon as you realized what she was about."

"Harry and MJ are my friends," he snapped. "And no matter how much wrong they might or might not have done to me, what I did to them was unconscionable. No matter how my relationship with them might change, what you're suggesting - that they somehow merited physical abuse, humiliation, disfigurement - is abhorrent."

She shrugged. "You say that now. But we can wait. You will come to see."

"No, I won't!" His voice began to rise, then he dropped it again since they were in a restaurant and he didn't want to attract unwanted attention. Much to his frustration, he realized that his argument was getting nowhere. Like Eddie and himself before her, Gwen was still besotted by the sense of empowerment the symbiote afforded. Compounding his concern was the realization that the symbiote was managing to adapt itself even more than he had thought it could from their previous encounter. Several comments Gwen made through their evening, as well as his own observations, made him realize as much.

At first he felt that it might be easier to deal with Gwen since the sample of the symbiote he'd left in the lab was quite small, barely a smudge compared to what had fastened on to him and Eddie. However, the way he'd seen her clothing subtly shift and change itself when nobody else was looking indicated that it was much larger than the sample he'd left; not the size of the piece he'd had but nearly. Apparently it found a way to grow or regenerate itself, even though the other portion had been immolated. Making matters worse was the fact that, just as the symbiote had passed on information that it had gleaned from him on to Eddie, so too did this one pass on certain information about him and Eddie to Gwen. Somehow the symbiote must be interconnected; and he could only imagine the pain that this portion had felt during the climax of the battle with Venom, the determination for power and vengeance that shared feeling must have engendered.

Impatient with Gwen's reluctance, Peter decided to attempt a different tactic.

"You know, if I decide to welcome the symbiote back, it will abandon you," he told her, falling silent when a waiter approached. After he left, he tried to continue in as persuasive a tone as possible. "What good will it do you, threatening people close to me in some twisted attempt to draw me to you? Even if you succeed, you will have committed terrible acts and ultimately end up alone. It's only using you to get to me - it waas probably using Eddie like that too."

"Silly Peter," she giggled. "Once we grow large enough, there will be more than enough to share. And then - well, does not marriage make one out of two? We will be fully and completely united. Besides, with both of us, we can give the symbiote something that you or Eddie alone could not." Her lips curled suggestively.

"And if I refuse this 'joining?'" His voice grew terse.

"There are others who might do. We learned to separate and leave pieces behind, you realize. Like you did when you removed a piece of us to give to Connors, only intentional. Instead of attacking, we might decide to unite with somebody else. Didn't you yourself think at one point that I might be a good match for your friend Harry? He has power of his own that might be useful..."

"Don't even think about it!" He clutched his utensils so hard they began to bend. "Stop it, Gwen. This is getting out of hand - can't you see how it's changing you?"

"What I can see is that you're still here with me," she replied. "And that you'll stay there if you have any concern for those you care about or for the secrets you want them to keep. Oh, don't look so solemn. It's not so bad. You liked me before you know, I know you did - whatever else you might say."

"I liked _Gwen_. And not necessarily... not necessarily like _that_. You, however, are something quite different."

"You make too much of the symbiote. As you yourself heard from Dr. Connors - it doesn't fabricate anything. It merely amplifies what's already there. There's nothing in the way any of us behaved with the symbiote on that didn't have its roots in our own personality."

"That may be true; but it takes those behaviors to an extreme!" He sighed. "Isn't there anything I can say that will convince you?"

Gwen initially refused to respond, instead turning her attention to her meal. After a few moments, however, she did deign to reply.

"We will be happy," she insisted, as if that ended that.

_OOO_

The clock in the study chimed and when Harry heard the number of rings he looked up with a start; it had gotten late without him noticing. For the first time all day he realized that he hadn't eaten since breakfast. His work had been time consuming and, unhappily, lead him to nothing more than numerous dead ends for the time being. Standing up, he stretched and looked around.

"Bernard?" He called. The butler appeared at the doorway in a few moments.

"Yes, Harry?"

"Bernard, has Pete been by today?"

"Not since this morning sir."

"Oh. Has anybody else called for me?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"Ok. Thanks." He nodded and waved him away, the butler retreating and going back to... well, whatever it was that he did, Harry supposed. Not that he knew precisely what that was. Reaching for his cell, he called up Peter's apartment complex. To the best of his knowledge, Peter wasn't going out with Mary Jane that evening, and he hoped he wouldn't have to eat dinner alone. Although, he told his giddy inner self quite firmly, trying to find out if he was available for dinner did not, in any way, shape or form, suggest itself to be a date.

Really.

A young voice answered, and he recognized it to be that of the girl who had answered the door that first unnerving evening back. "Hello?"

"Hi. Is Peter there?"

"Let me check." There was a clunk as she set the phone down and he could hear her running down the hall. "No, I don't think he is," she told him breathlessly when she returned. "If he's there he's not answering." She stopped for a moment. "I don't think he's been here for a few days. Maybe he's at Mary Jane's. Do you want me to take a message?"

"No, that's quite all right," he assured her. "Thank you."

Hanging up, he called Aunt May and repeated his inquiries with no more success. Strange. Perhaps he was doing something with MJ after all. Harry was reluctant to interrupt, but called her up regardless and found her in her own apartment, going over songs for work. Making up an excuse for her about a scheduled patrol with Peter, he hung up, oddly upset about failing to contact Peter. Not that Pete didn't have a perfect right to go off by himself for an evening and do... well, whatever he pleased.

He was probably patrolling, Harry decided. He ought to be too, he supposed, although a growl from his stomach reminded him how long ago the waffles had been and how hungry he was. Deciding that it would be more prudent to eat then patrol, he went to grab a sportscoat.

"Flint?" He called out uncertainly. In the corner of the room there was a slight movement of was amounted to no more than a few specks, but before long sand was streaming in and forming itself into a human shape. Inwardly he marveled at the rate at which he managed to reform his body. He hadn't even noticed the particles in the room, yet apparently Marko could see and hear equally through any amount of his sand. It made Harry rather glad that he'd managed to persuade Marko to his side. He was not a man to have as an enemy.

"Yeah?" Flint asked once he was fully formed. "Everything's quiet, if that's what you want to know."

"I was going out - is there anything I can get you?"

"Nah. Don't really eat."

"Oh. Yeah," he smacked his head. "I'm sorry, I keep forgetting. And - about Penny. Would you mind if I visted her tomorrow? I'm sorry, I should have done it days ago. I've been remiss. Can I get her anything - clothes, toys, something like that?"

"Welll... well maybe you oughta ask her or Emma 'bout that. I mean..." he looked down. "Don't really know what she wants, or her size or nothin'. Been away, didn't get to see her long."

"I understand." He breathed. "I'll talk to her mom, OK?" He tried to reassure him with a smile. "It will all work out, you'll see."

"I hope..."

He dissolved back into sand and spread himself out into the innumberable rooms and corners of the penthouse and building below while Harry grabbed the jacket. He considered eating in, but figured that he ought to get out for a bit. Finding the makeup Peter used the other day, he worked for a bit and applied it to himself; it was not quite as good as Peter's job, but it was passable for being out in public. Heading down to the garage, he decided that the Constellation restaurant would do. Calling ahead, he made sure that there were tables open since he had no reservation. It wasn't as fancy as he could go, but it was certainly more upscale and would be good for a brief night out.

Giving the destination to the driver, he settled into the leather seats, looking out from time to time to see if he could spot Peter web-slinging above the streets; he certainly would have felt better if he had. He caught no sight of him for the entire ride, however. It was only after entering the restaurant and requesting a table, slipping the waiter money as he did, that he finally found the man he was looking for. Forgetting propriety for a moment, he stormed over to a table where Peter was sitting, looking like a deer in headlights, with a blond who had a smile like sharpened knives.

"What," he fumed, "Is going on here?"

"Harold Osborn!" Gwen smiled and rose, while Peter turned to him in a panic.

"Harry, this isn't what it looks like!" He shot him a pleading look.

Gwen's hand shot out before either could do anything. "How very nice to meet you," she intoned smoothly, one of her rings oozing off of her finger and attatching itself to Harry's hand. Her grip tightened and the eyes of both Harry and Peter grew wide when they realized what was happening. Peter jumped up to separate them and Harry yanked his hand out of her grasp, shaking it in an attempt to get splotch off, but it was too late. It caught hold and latched on to his upper most thoughts; though it could delve no further as Harry seized upon the table's candle and singed it off. The piece of symbiote fell to the floor and retreated to Gwen.

Harry turned away, flexing his hand and Gwen's eyes grew wide. She gasped and he shuddered, having picked up on the force of her predatory feelings. Then he heard her laughing.

"I see. The gallant knight, riding in to save the day?"

He spun around. "Shut up!"

"He doesn't know, does he?" She cast a glance at Peter. "Don't see how he couldn't; you're blatantly projecting it, it's frightfully obvious even without the symbiote's help."

"You... you _hussy_!" He growled. "Leave him alone!"

She laughed. "Hussy? Love the 1940s vocabulary."

"Pete, come on," he whispered, "We need to get out of here."

"Harry, I can't; I need to keep track of her," Peter's face twisted with regret and confusion. "I can handle it, I'll be fine."

"Taking him back to your penthouse?" Her voice dripped with insinuation.

At that moment, a waiter walked up. "Is there a problem here?"

"No," Harry said in an icy tone. "I won't be needing the table. I've lost my appetite."

He turned and made his way outside when he heared labored breathing behind him.

"Harry? Harry, what was all that about?"

He stopped for a moment and considered, then shook his head and made his way back inside. "It's nothing Pete. Do you need a ride home?"

"If I lose track of her, she might go after somebody..."

"I understand. Need me to invite Aunt May over? Have her and MJ stay at the penthouse?"

"MJ?" A voice taunted. "I would have thought you would want her out of the way."

Gwen stepped out onto the sidewalk behind Peter. He looked first to her, then to Harry, feeling a rising sense of panic.

"Go to hell you tramp," Harry snapped.

"Oooh! Tramp! Keeping to the PG-insults tonight?"

"Fine then, you whore. Keep your hands off Peter! Touch him and I will fucking gut you!"

"Going to fight an unarmed woman on the street? How gentlemanly of you. And as for not touching him... wanting him for yourself, then?" She grinned at Peter. "Hasn't he told you?"

"What?" Peter looked at her confused. "What are you even..."

"Come off it!" She sighed, exasperated. "You can't see it? How naïve _are _you Peter?" She gestured towards him. "He wants in your pants! That's all! Looking for a little more than friendship. Why do you think he keeps inviting you over, gets nervous around you? The symbiote wasn't on him for more than a moment or two and it picked this stuff up like it was a high def broadcast!" She smirked at Harry. "And here you were, Peter, thinking he was just a really good friend when all the time he's been fantasizing about you..."

"Harry?" Peter turned around slowly. "Harry, is this true?"

_No more lies. No more lies, I promised. Even if..._

"Not like that. Not all that she said. But... the main point... I'm so sorry Peter. Really, I am. I didn't tell you because... I'm sorry! _Damn it! _And damn you," he pointed to Gwen. "You and that symbiote." He backed away, then turned and walked towards his car as quickly as possible. His cheeks burnt and his vision was clouding; another moment and he was sure they would notice the wetness on his cheeks, and he did not wish to give Gwen that satisfaction.

Gwen slunk up to Peter and snaked her arms around his waist. "Come back inside, Peter. We still have to eat dessert."

"Harry..." He whispered, watching him disappear into the night.

_OOO_

A/N: And yet another cliffhanger. Kinda. A bit. Coming next time: agonizing!Harry. At least for a bit. Because torturing Harry is admittedly fun. Also, you may have noticed the intro quotes are gone: they didn't add much, didn't apply very well in more than just a general sense and I wasn't sure if they were in keeping with the guidelines so I axed them. So there it is: as always, I hope you enjoyed and always appreciate reviews.


	19. A Monstrous Accord

_OOO_

Harry did not look back to see Peter or Gwen, nor did he look out of the window as they drove away. He had no wish to remember Peter with a look of contempt in his eyes; much better he preserve memories of Peter as a friend rather than make the last mental image of him one of loathing and disgust. Aggrivated, he picked at the rapidly appearing welt on his hand from his self-inflicted burn. He winced with pain but didn't stop; it was a good distraction.

_You see, son? What did I tell you?_

Norman's voice fell on deaf ears, however; it hardly mattered whether his father was right or wrong about Peter. His opinions didn't matter; nothing mattered save for the fact that he, Harry, always lost no matter what and he simply could not take it any more. He was the one who always ended up alone, empty handed, fighting for dreams that were not his own in battles he was forever losing. At the end of the day, all he wanted was to forget that Harry Osborn even existed; and he knew precisely how to achieve it.

The journey back to the penthouse went by in a blur and once he was back, Harry made straight for the liquor. He didn't bother to mix anything properly and simply reached for whatever drinking glass he could find, no matter how inappropriate. Vaguely he realized that brandy did not belong in a martini glass, but the temporary repository seemed a minor matter, provided that it all ended up in the same place: inside of him. Blindly grabbing bottles and pouring, he managed to come up with a few combinations that were truly disgusting though he wasn't precisely aware of what went into them. Still he kept drinking, as quickly as possible.

Because he'd not eaten since breakfast, it wasn't long before the first wave of drunken nausea hit. Although he aimed for a waste paper basket, he missed and instead managed to create a mess that, complete with residue from the morning's repast, clashed quite horribly with the carpet. Grimacing, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand then staggered back behind the wet bar and resumed.

Despite his best efforts to continue, his body shortly decided that it had taken more than enough. An expensive decanter of something slipped out of his hands and shattered and he followed it to the floor only moments later. Darkness began to close in, starting at the edges of his vision and moving quite rapidly. Yet, he reflected in the few moments he had, it was more of a relief than anything else. Even as his stomach heaved, and he was distantly hit with the realization that he would be covered in his own vomit should he ever wake up, a strange sense of euphoria settle over him.

For once, everything was quiet.

_OOO_

Only upon seeing Harry's retreating back did Peter finally and fully realize the difference between love and infatuation, recognize the gulf that separated lusting after an unattainable idol and being able to live and care for a real, flawed person. All the time he had been chasing after a dream, he'd had the opportunity to live with and hold tightly someone he could related to, be comfortable with in quiet moments, exist with, without worrying about impressing or saying the right thing as he often had to say nothing at all. This was the same person between which such a terrible gulf had formed and in retrospect Peter could see that friendship had not been the only explanation for his frantic attempts to bridge the gap. Yet now that their distance had finally been closed, now that he finally understood what it was he wanted, it had slipped away once more.

Each realization brought sparks of hope and joy doused almost immediately by the pain of realizing that he was trapped and Harry had disappeared into the night.

It was all Peter could do to calmly re-enter the restaurant, as in reality he was seething with a rage he'd never felt when out of the black suit. He kept repeating mantras to himself that spoke of the fact that there were bystanders near, that there was no ready source of sound or fire enough - even if there was, only sound could remove it without hurting Gwen at this point. A fight would be pointless, would only endanger people and likely end fruitlessly - or even in injury to himself. Except...

Except that somewhere else, Harry was hurting. And that thought alone was enough to tempt him into doing something stupid and reckless.

"You monster," he breathed.

"Isn't this crème brûlée lovely?"

"I can't even imagine what he's going through right now."

"Can't you? Don't let thoughts of him trouble you; he certainly put you through enough. No need to feel guilty - his feelings were his own and if he suffers, it's of his own doing. You aren't responsible for placating him."

"I don't think you quite understand," he stated coldly. "He shouldn't have to labour under the misunderstanding that the feelings aren't reciprocated - because they are," he said, as much to confirm his dawning realizations to himself aloud as to inform her. "I... I don't mind. I don't want him to go, or to hurt, or to be alone. _I love Harry_." A small smile appeared. "I have all along, now that I think about it."

Gwen's spoon stopped in midair on it's way to her mouth and she set it back down. "I see." She paused, considering. "An emotion the symbiote didn't register during its time with you? This must have been either deeply buried or you're so emotionally dense you never noticed; regardless, I'm impressed you slipped it past us. And I assume you want to go to him, comfort him?"

The smile vanished. "You know I do. Don't be coy."

"Well then," she smiled. "Perhaps we can come to an understanding. You want him; we want you. But we're not entirely averse to sharing."

Peter wasn't sure he could meet her eyes without lunging across the table; nor could he wipe the alternating looks of anger and disgust from his face. Instead he kept his gaze trained on the salt and pepper shakers, not trusting himself to do more.

"Go to him, if you please. Say whatever you like. But understand that you are to come back to us," she insisted. "You will continue to see us until we can be sure that, when we retake you, there will be no repetition of the incident in the church; that you will not attempt either removal or destruction. If you do not - we _will _begin hunting. And perhaps even... well." She allowed the threat to hang. "You're a smart boy; I'm sure you're well aware of how creative I can get. If you want to make it two for the price of one, we can do that. Especially if it would make you happier and more tractable.

"Or perhaps he serves best as a warning instead of a reward, as what we might take in your stead if you do not come around. After all, if he is asleep and unprepared - we doubt he would be half so good as you at resisting. His darkness runs much deeper than yours ever did, even if his power does not hold quite as much potential."

Feeling ill to his stomach, Peter wasn't sure how much more he could take. The infected Gwen was canny in a way Eddie had never been and his mind played out dozens of gruesome scenarios, one after another. A black-suited Harry trying to kill him as fervently as before. Harry losing himself in Gwen thrall under the influence of the suit. Peter reaccepting the suit and turning his back on Harry to satiate Gwen. Gwen producing unreasonably powerful progeny with them, resulting in symbiotes that would creep over the entire earth. Trying to imagine such things on top of the emotional rollercoaster he'd already endured through the course of the day made him feel absolutely exhausted.

"Please," he said in a quiet voice. "Just let me see him. I'll... I won't run away from you. I promise."

"You had better keep that pledge. Or you _will _suffer."

"I know, I know." He stood up. "I need to leave. I have to. Whatever you want... but I've got to do this."

"As you will," she shrugged. "Go. I'll take care of the check."

Grabbing his jacket, he raced into the night. Knowing he couldn't simply websling away from the restaurant was frustrating, and he ripped a few buttons off of his shirt in an attempt to change as quickly as possible in the shadows of a nearby, thankfully empty, alley. If he knew his friend as well as he thought he did, Peter was fairly certain how Harry would choose to cope with the unhappy thought that his best friend, his love even, abhorred him. He could only hope that Harry had chosen to drink at home rather than go to one of the city's innumerable bars; if Harry had gone out, Peter might never find him.

_OOO_

Almost as soon as Harry went down, Flint reshaped and rushed over, staring dumbly at the body. The instructions Harry had given him hadn't told him how to deal with his employer passing out in a drunken stupor. It was his own business after all, what he did with his body, and he might resent interference. Then again it seemed beyond callous to allow him to lay there in a mess. Besides, if he did, it wasn't unheard of for people to choke to death on their own vomit, and then everything would unravel for both of them. Well, maybe just for him; he wasn't sure how Harry would take being dead.

Shaking his head, Flint decided that he could at least turn him over and put him on the couch. Was he supposed to turn his head a certain direction to make sure he kept breathing? He wasn't sure. Before he made any further decisions there came a frantic tapping at the large bay windows; Spider-Man had arrived. Breathing, or at least simulating breathing, a sigh of relief, Marko threw the windows open.

"He's in a bad state," he told Spider-Man nervously, feeling rather dull for having stated the obvious. "Dunno what caused it."

"I do," Peter pulled off the mask. "I'll will take care of him. Give us privacy. The whole floor. If I need you, I'll find you."

He spoke with a calm and self-assurance that Flint was unused to hearing in anybody's voice, and he readily followed the instructions given. Hoping Harry would be alright and briefly wondering what might have precipitated the binge, Flint filed the events of the night under 'not his business' once again and went to make sure that everything was secure on the lower levels.

Kneeling next to Harry, Peter shook him gentle. "Harry?" He whispered. "Harry, are you awake? Please, wake up Harry. I'm here now. You've got to..." He felt queasy. Just how much had Harry imbibed? Could he be experiencing alcohol poisoning? Should he call an ambulance? Suddenly, Harry's body shuddered and he propped himself up on his hands; he shook his head once, coughed, then heaved and vomited on Peter. Looking up, he realized what he'd done and his mouth fell open. Reaching out, Peter stroked his sweat-dampened hair.

"Pete?" Harry asked in a small voice, as though he didn't trust his vision. "Buddy? Am I drunk?"

"Just a little," Peter told him ruefully. "Let's get you to a bathroom. OK?"

Supporting Harry's weight, Peter managed to get him to a toilet. Hoping to alleviate at least some of the inevitable hangover, he offered Harry water from the sink in little paper cups. First he washed his mouth out, then managed to sip a little bit of it, before leaning over the toilet for another round. Peter brushed Harry's hair back, then used the hand towel on a nearby rack to sop the worst of the mess off of his own suit.

"Sorry 'bout that," Harry muttered. "'Nother reason to hate me."

"Shhhh. It's all right. The suit's machine washable anyway. It's lived through worse than this. And I don't hate you Harry," he told him, brushing his hair back to keep it out of his face and offering him another cup of water.

"About tonight..."

"It's fine." He rubbed Harry's shoulders. "Everything makes sense now."

Harry coughed and turned his head to look at him. "Everything makes _sense_?" He sputtered in dismay. "That's _it_? You... you find that out and all you can say is it makes sense?!"

"Well, yes. Your behaviors, things I've noticed but didn't understand, things I've felt... I suppose it was there all along, but it felt so... so _right_, I never noticed anything out of the ordinary." He pressed his lips to Harry's temples. "You always were my best friend. I just didn't realize how, well, _best_ you were."

"You're not angry? Or disgusted? Or embarassed?" He asked hesitantly.

"No. Not all all." He stroked the other's cheek. "I could never be angry at my Harry for loving me."

"_Damn it, Peter!_" Harry sobbed into his neck and Peter, a little confused but mostly relieved, held him. Trickles of water streamed down his neck, hot yet, he realized with some humor, ticklish, and his mind suddenly went back to his Aunt's words 'I loved him so fiercely.' For the first time, holding his drunken, broken, faithful friend Peter felt he understood. Without warning, Harry lifted his head from Peter's neck and planted his mouth on Peter's.

If they had kissed earlier in the day, Harry might have tasted like strawberries; now, however, that taste was very faint. Instead he tasted like alcohol and gastric acid, and the makeup he'd worn earlier to go out was badly smeared, revealing the scars beneath. Peter would not have wished it any other way.

_OOO_

A/N: So not as much of a cliff-hanger this time around; still, there are plenty of loose ends that will need to be dealt with. Not the least of which being Peter filling in Harry on the nature of symbiote!Gwen's threats and the impact they'll have on their relationship. Plus, more about Norman to come, not to mention more interaction with Penny and Matt. Review if you please and I hope you stay tuned:)


	20. Aftermath

_OOO_

For the first time in his life, Harry Osborn woke up to feel the weight and warmth of another person sleeping next to him. Turning on his side, he saw Peter sleeping there, his suit still on from the previous night. As soon as he began shifting around, Peter opened his eyes too.

"Morning," Peter smiled.

"Good morning." He rubbed his eyes and yawned. "My head is pounding... I was drunk last night, wasn't I?"

"A little."

"Just a little?"

"Maybe a lot." He shrugged. "Maybe I was holding you over the toilet until three a.m."

"Oh. And I'm guessing I said some stuff too."

"You did."

"But you're still here."

"I am."

Harry paused, as if to consider there. Reaching over, Peter took his hand in his own. "I'm not going anywhere, if that's what you're worried about." Then looking at the blanket, he sighed. "Well, at least not at the moment."

"What do you mean?" He looked at the other man warily.

"There are.. there are things we have to talk about." He hedged.

"Such as...?" He braced himself.

"It's... it's Gwen."

"Gwen?" For a moment, he was confused. "You mean - that blonde bimbo from last night?"

"She's not a bimbo, Harry. She's really quite smart. I wish you'd known her... you know. Without the symbiote. She was nice. Is, if she's still under there somewhere. Thought you'd like before... well, when I didn't know what I know now. Point is, the symbiote's infected her clean though. But because she's the host, it's worse than before. A lot worse."

"How could it be worse? Eddie absolutely hated you, was bent on killing you."

"She's smarter than he was, though. More clever. And more... well... she wants different things than Eddie did, to put it politely. Things apart from vengeance."

"Oh. Harry's eyes then grew wide. "Oh! But you must have told her..."

"I did. She doesn't care. It doesn't. They don't. Whatever. The point is - the point is that she threatened you Harry. It's not a simple sexual thing. It might be for Gwen; the symbiote frees you, lets you do things you wouldn't do normally, and I'm guessing she's had a lot of... of stuff pent up. It's all coming out not. But the symbiote wants power. It wants to reproduce. And it doesn't care how it gets its power, and it wants as much as possible. It doesn't care how it reproduces, as long as it spreads." He sighed. "If it doesn't get me, it's going to come after you."

"What do you mean, come after me?" His voice was indignant. "I'm no Spidey, but I'm not a pushover either!"

"I'm not say you are. But it's quite good at sneaking. It's like a conscious liquid. It can slip in, it can track, ambush... especially now that it's been on you once. Even that momentary connection will give it some sense of where you are. If she decides to pursue you, I'm not sure how long you'll be able to evade it. And once it does get on you, it's next to impossible to get off. I escaped through luck as much as anything else - happened to make my decision to take it out of my life in a church tower with a ringing bell. Now that the symbiote is with Gwen, though, it's smarter than to let that happen."

"So what are you trying to tell me?"

"If it gets on you... I might lose you." Peter's voice was thick with emotion.

"I see." His thumb rubbed over the back of Peter's hand. "What do we do?"

"I don't know. The condition is me or you. Or..."

"Or...?"

"Or both."

Harry quirked an eyebrow at him. "Up for anything, isn't she?"

"The symbiote is at least. It wants power; it would rather have mine, but it will subsume yours as well if it thinks it can."

"We can beat this Pete. You know we can."

"I don't know, Harry! The... the last time... well, it didn't go very well, did it?"

"Yeah, but then it was two on two. And now - it can be three on one. Four if we can rope in Matt."

"Three on one?"

"You know - Flint!" Harry scooted around to face Peter. "If we can some how trap her - think about it. Sand is abrasive; maybe it could scrape the symbiote off. At the very least, he could seize the symbiote. I don't think even those teeth and claws could take him in his larger form. Him, plus us - we can take her! Gwen might even stand a chance. I mean, you were that close to saving Eddie and I hope she has more sense than him..."

"Harry..."

"Trust me," he smiled. "We can! Have a little self-confidence."

"Harry, it's not that."

"Then what?"

"It's that this... this is all the time. Look at what happened to MJ. Every supervillain that blew into town and found out we were connected kidnapped her and threatened her and dangled her off bridges - no offense - and strung her up in cabs and... and..."

"And practically strangled her in her apartment to get her to break up with her boyfriend?"

"Yes!" He blushed. "I mean... you know what I mean. Anybody I have a known attatchment to - they get into trouble. We weren't even going out or anything and Gwen already started. It's... it's not that I don't want to. I'm just a little, well, worried about being public or vocal about it. Besides if we're constantly teaming up and then I start dating you in real life, won't it look suspicious?"

"You're embarassed about this, aren't you?" Harry retorted coldly. "To be seen with me."

"No! That's not what it is at all!"

"Then why didn't you act this way with MJ?"

"I did!" He sighed. "Back when she was dating John... she asked me if I still cared. I told her no, didn't want her to face that stuff. But..."

"But?"

"She wanted to... left the wedding, came to me..."

"And you think I don't want to any less?" He took Peter's head in his hands. "Listen to me. I'm not Mary Jane. I can take care of myself. You know that. Not completely. I don't want to be alone. But I'm not going to be some... some damsel in distress who lets himself get carried off at every opportunity."

"That still doesn't resolve the other thing."

"No, it doesn't," Harry gave him a sad smile, then leaned in and started to kiss him.

"You thing... mmmf... that dis... mmmm... distracting me like... unh... like this is going...gnnnhhh!... going to work?" He gasped.

"Yes?" Harry smiled hopefully.

He pushed Peter back, and Peter let himself be pushed down into the pillows. Harry's mouth was warm and moist against his, but when he felt Harry working his hands beneath his shirt, Peter sat up and gently pushed him away.

"I am serious, though. It would look suspicious. You're high profile, Harry. An industrialist takes up with Spider-Man's photographer at the same time Spidey teams up with a technologically decked out partner? Besides - what about the company? How do you think the shareholders would deal with an openly homosexual CEO?"

"Screw the company," he snorted. "I don't want the damn thing anyway, or those fossils on the board. It was my father's baby, not mine. It's around because I need a job and Viridian needs equipment. But as for the other thing..." he sighed. "I suppose you have a point. I wouldn't want to put Aunt May or Bernard or anybody in danger. Or our lives for that matter; I don't suppose we'd have much privacy if anybody found out."

"Probably not."

"That doesn't mean I don't get to treat you special, though," he grinned, sliding his hand around Peter's waist. "Even if we do have to stay at my place to have fun..."

"Hey! _Treat _me?" Peter punched him. "When did I become the woman?"

"Well, I am larger."

"How would you know! We've never even - "

"Not like that!" He rolled his eyes. "I mean more muscular. How much do you weigh?"

"I don't know!"

"Bet I weigh more."

"Come on!"

"Then how about this: I get Mondays, Thursday and Fridays and you get Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Saturdays?"

"What about Sunday?" Peter teased.

"Sundays we'll rotate?" He laughed. "Seriously. It's not a big issue. I just... well, I feel that I should."

"Why?" He sighed. "I know you have more money... but I still feel like I should contribute."

"You do, in ways that are more important..."

"I'm not some rentboy, Harry," he said with a smile.

"No, but you're my boyfriend. For real this time." He drew Peter into a hug. "And that means we can share things without you feeling guilty."

"We're not married, Harry."

"Well of course not; that legislation's only been introduced."

"Moving a little fast, don't you think?"

"We've already lived together once before. I mean, we've been practically dating for ages, really..."

"You mean back when you were trying to kill me?"

"It was an expression of affection! Kind of!" He grinned. "I could show you some right now. Take a knife to that costume of yours..."

Springing up from the mattress, Peter made for the door. "I'm dying for breakfast."

"There are still strawberries left..."

"Delicious. And hey - aren't we supposed to go over Matthew's later?"

"That's right! It's Saturday! But - I promised Flint I'd go talk to Penny."

"That's fine. I should check in on Gwen anyway," he grimaced. "You go take care of the Markos and I'll make sure she's placated. But the sooner we solidify a plan the better - although maybe you and Flint should come up with it. I don't know what she might pry out of me if she decides to sic the symbiote on me."

"I'll talk to him today." He went over to the door and pulled Peter close. "Don't worry. You'll see. It will be fine..."

Peter wanted to say something, to object; but whatever it was he was thinking flew out of his mind as Harry pressed him against the doorframe and knit his fingers in Peter's hair, nipping at Peter's lips and nuzzling his cheek.

It would be fine.

_OOO_

Despite the fact that Harry and Peter had requested privacy, Flint had been unable to resist checking in on them. Although he knew Harry was his employer there were times when he looked at the billionaire and saw an orphan, a little bit lost and rather alone. What Flint noticed most, though, was that he cried. Now and again when he didn't think people were looking, but even when he knew they were - at least people like Peter. Flint respected that, even felt more comfortable around a person like that. He was a cryer himself - it gave them something in common, made him feel like he could trust Harry.

Seeing the way he treated Penny, however, helped him to respect Harry.

He was gracious and tactful to Emma, weighing his words carefully so as to not give offense or make it seem like what he was doing was a handout. He made it clear that what Flint was doing was not illegal, if not precisely over the table. She exhibited some mistrust and reluctance, but finally agreed - in part for Penny's sake.

Penny, however, lit up when Harry came by. She wanted to know all about her father and Harry's exploits with Spider-Man. Though he didn't have many exciting stories he could tell her, he did listen to her. He didn't condescend or give her false hope about her condition; instead, he allowed her to talk about her anxieties over her treatment and her father without interruption. When it was over, he offered to take her out on a little shopping trip, assuring her mother than he would take prodigiously good care off her.

When they walked together, Harry took his time but never made it seem deliberate. He allowed her to lead the way, treating her to whatever she wanted - clothing, a few toys, and, at the end, ice cream. When they were done, Penny looked happier than Flint had seen her in ages and Harry had promised that she could come over to see her father. He also promised Emma to assist in looking for a house for them.

The whole... thing... he had with Parker was a bit weird, not something Flint was used to seeing. But after watching Harry with his daughter, he had to think that all in all, he thoroughly approved.

_OOO_

Peter arrived at Matthew's house to find Harry already waiting, dressed in a loose fitting martial arts robe. A second was in waiting for Peter in the workout room. The moment Peter stormed into the room, Harry and Matthew turned their heads in his direction, Harry frowning in concern.

"Rough time?"

"She's like a shark!" He shook his head. "We went to lunch - she was practically humping my leg in the restaurant!"

"Have you done anything about MJ yet?"

"No - no chance to."

"Want me to talk to her?" He asked apprehensively.

"It's not your job. It's fine."

Matthew sat, listening to the conversation; Harry's heart was beating quickly, but not in the same way. It wasn't jumpy or speeding up an down; instead, both of their demeanors gave off an aura of tension. But something had definitely changed between the two of them, some understanding. The way they talked to one another... the comments about the girl belied it. Yet their tones and movements indicated more. Had Harry told him? If he had - well, then, it seemed to have gone over rather well, he thought.

"Something wrong, boys? Anything on your minds?"

"You have no idea... well, maybe you do. I mean... look," he sighed. "Can we work out? I'll tell you at the end."

"Very well." Matthew stood and gestured for them to do the same. "First, some breathing exercises..."

_OOO_

Sorry for the lateness of the update. And the lack of cliffhanger. And much plot development. But there will be more to come, I assure you. Much more Peter and Matt, Penny and Flint. Plus the two storylines and enemies start to converge. Not to give too much away but those with a familiarity with the comics might see where this is going. Still AU, but definitely comic influenced. And with that teaser - thanks for all the reviews, favorites and alerts thus far, I would love a review and, as ever, hope you continue to read and enjoy.


	21. New Beginnings and Loose Ends

_OOO_

When Harry did the stretching exercises that Matthew recommended he felt a slight burn in his muscles as they extended and contorted in ways he was unused to. Because of his elevated agility Peter was able to bend in ways that Harry wouldn't have thought possible; but he himself was slightly less lithe and couldn't quite flex as far or hold the positions as long. After they had gone through a series of exercises repetitiously, Matt taught them a few basic moves from a variety of martial arts styles. Using one or the other as an example, Matthew demonstrated a variety of holds, twists and kicks. Once they were through with that he also showed them a few street fighting moves and then had them practice on the gymnastics equipment he kept in his home.

Harry focused on the balance beam while Peter tackled the bars; the former wanted to increase his balance and movement capabilities on the Sky Stick and the later to refine his techniques for contorting in mid-air. When they stopped for water, Harry shook his head in frustration.

"You're a lot better at this than me," he said, gulping down liquid and wiping away sweat.

"I told you - I've been at it longer. But you're learning fast."

"You both did a decent job," Matthew said behind them, reminding them both how sensitive his ears were. "But you'll need to keep with it if you want to become truly skilled. And while we're on the subject of training - I hope you two are watching your diets. I'm sure your metabolisms are quite high but you should still pay attention, keep carbohydrate intake high so that you have enough energy to remain in peak fighting condition."

Glancing at Peter, Harry mouthed the words 'should we tell him?', not wanting to even whisper as he didn't doubt that Matthew could hear that too. Peter nodded and Harry turned to the red-head who was packing away some of the floor equipment.

"Matt?"

"Yes?"

"Peter and I... well, we started going out."

He gave them a knowing smile, as if he'd already suspected but simply hadn't said anything. "That's wonderful news then."

"But..."

"But what?"

"We have a bit of a problem," Peter finished with a sigh.

"Why don't we go inside. You two shower and get cleaned up and I'll get us all some food and you can explain it."

When they got out they found Matthew already showered and pulling out a reheated pan of vegetable lasagna from the oven. He set it on the table between a bowl of salad and a basket of bread, allowing them each to serve themselves while Peter launched into a lengthy explanation of the symbiote, his past dealings with Gwen, how he suspected she had gotten the symbiote and its present dealings with himself and Harry.

"There are still a few things I don't understand - like why the symbiote seems to be growing. I can't be certain why. Before Venom was destroyed the sample that I gave to Dr. Connors remained the same size. My best guess is that its destruction triggered a growth and possibly a reproductive defense mechanism in what remained of the symbiote. It sensed that a large portion of it had been destroyed so it's attempting to make up for it. Propigate itself to protect and preserve itself against any further attacks."

"Having a background in law, not in science, I couldn't tell you. What I did notice, however, was a similarity between the agressive behaviors you described in Venom and a number of recent attacks. The 'slasher attacks' as they're being called seem to have been performed by claws and teeth, trademarks of the symbiote from what you described. And given what seems to be this new symbiotes hypersexuality and the fact that many of the dead men are known sex offenders - well, it's not too hard to put two and two together." He paused to cut another piece of lasagna and sprinkled parmigiano on it. "I knew a woman like that myself. Went looking for trouble in order to find her victims. Lured them in then beat the living shit out of them."

"That doesn't sound like Gwen."

"Perhaps not the Gwen you were familiar with. But it's altogether possible that an uninhibited Gwen would behave in such a way. Her father is law enforcement - and I'm sure the symbiote takes any opportunity to exercise violence that it can, whether or not it's for any larger purpose."

"Fantastic. So that's another thing to deal with - I was supposed to have pictures of the perp days ago but if it's Gwen, well, she'd be more like to rope me into killing those men with her than putting up with me fighting her. Right now I can only keep the peace and I'm worried that even that won't last for long. She's beginning to get impatient waiting for me to 'come around' as she puts it. Unless I do something soon, she'll make an attempt on me or, more likely, Harry. And I can't allow that to happen, no matter what."

"We do have a plan, though," Harry interjected. "Well, part of a plan. Kind of a plan. More like an idea really."

"Oh?"

"I thought that sand is abrasive and since she's not exactly aware of the fact that I'm employing Sandman, we could try and have him trap her and scrape the symbiote off. If that fails, he can assume a larger form and drag her somewhere that we could use sound to pry it away from her. Hopefully she can still be saved, but at this point..." he trailed off doubtfully.

"It sounds like a solid trap. Assuming she walks into it."

"She is a lot smarter than Eddie," Peter admitted.

"We were hoping you might help us out," Harry added. "Just in case."

"Well, I might not be much use if you have to resort to using her weakness against sound. Because of my heightened senses I would likely go insto a sensory overload and fail to be of much use. But I can be there for backup if you'd like."

"We'd appreciate it tremendously," he nodded sincerely.

"Then tell me when and where and I'll be there."

"Thanks a million," Peter grinned finished off a piece of garlic bread.

Harry rolled his eyes and gave him a little slap. "Don't make those eyes at him!"

"What! I'm just glad he's helping us. Come on; he might be a hero of mine, but you..." He learned over and kissed Harry who closed his eyes and opened his mouth enough to allow Peter's tongue purchase. They pulled away after a long moment.

"You taste like garlic," Harry made a face. "Brush your teeth and then we'll talk."

"Hey!"

Matthew smiled and stood to get out the tiramisu he had for dessert.

_OOO_

Penny smiled as she carefully set her new clothes out on the bed and snipped off the tags, one by one. Her mother promised to start laundering them as soon as she had them ready so she wanted to do it as quickly as possible. There was a small waste paper basket beside her as she worked and it was quickly filling up with plastic and paper scraps. As she worked her mother brought in a basket brimming with pink fabric - new sheets for her bed.

"Looks like you had a fun time with Mr. Osborn," she said guarded.

"Harry's awesome!" She grinned. "He helped me pick out dresses and took me for ice cream and let me tell him all about school and said that the next time we could get books and maybe even presents for you if you wanted, Mom, and he said he'd take me flying some time if I wanted! Even with the tank," she finished up quietly. "I like Harry. I like him a lot."

Her mother paused for a moment, then smiled and nodded, setting down the sheets and taking a load of dresses down to the basement laundry to get them clean.

_OOO_

When Mary Jane arrived at Peter's apartment later that evening, most of his possessions had already been boxed up. Only the bed was still untouched; he needed to sleep in it for one last night before moving it all out to Harry's.

"You called?" She asked quietly after she managed to force the door open.

"Yeah..." He sighed. "MJ, I know things have been tough between us. And I wanted to give them a chance to work out. But, it's just... well..."

"There's someone else isn't there?" She gave him a wry smile.

He exhaled in relief, the worse evidently being over before it began. "Yeah, there is. I'm sorry."

"No, no, it's OK. I mean, it wasn't working out for me either. I like you - but as a friend."

"Exactly. Exactly!" He could have laughed.

She smiled and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ears. "It's Harry, isn't it?"

The burning sensation in his cheeks made him distantly aware that he was blushing furiously. "It... but... How!" He moaned, exasperated. "Does Aunt May know already too? Does everybody know everything about me and just decide not to let on that they know?!"

"Aunt May... I think she suspects. Not sure if she knows about Harry precisely. And as for you, it was pretty obvious. When you think about it. For a while, anyway."

"What! Obvious! Harry didn't think it was obvious! I didn't even know myself... I mean..."

"Not to put too fine a point but you two aren't exactly... well..."

"Well what?!" He demanded in disbelief.

"You're not the most, shall we say, _perceptive _guys I know."

"You mean I need to be beaten about the head before I realize something?"

"Pretty much," Mary Jane conceded, then patted his shoulder. "It's OK, though. I mean, it looks like things have worked out for you, right? Harry said yes?" Peter nodded and smiled a bit shyly. "Well, I'm glad. I wasn't sure of his affections. I thought you might be..." She shook her head. "I was planning on breaking things off with you since I didn't think you were working but I was planning on telling you to be careful around Harry. I still though he was - oh, nevermind. I'm just glad the two of you can finally be happy."

"Well... not exactly," Peter said sheepishly. "You see, there's this crazed villain who wants to have me as a kept man in order to spread symbiotes through our offspring and has threatened Harry - or alternately agreed to draw him in too - in order to achieve it."

"Um... Yeah. Gonna miss that. The whole 'getting carried off by supervillains' bit. Real fun time, that. Good memories," she intoned sarcastically. "Seriously, though, if there's anything I can do, let me know."

"No... thanks, but probably not. Bit out of your league."

"That's what I figured. But if you ever need a concrete block dropped on somebody, well, you know who to call."

"Thanks."

"And you two shoudl stop by the club some time. It's about as private as you can get in the city. Well, as private as possible while still remaining low key. I'm sure Harry could get you in to more exclusive places but they're going to know him there. And I'm guessing you two want your privacy for now?"

"For now. I don't want anybody to draw connections between our teaming up and our dating. And there's Harry's public image issues although I think I'm worried about those more than he is."

"He never did care much for OsCorp," MJ agreed.

"No." They fell silent until Peter stood, indicating that the visit was over. "Well, I need to get packing." He rolled his eyes. "He still wants me to move in with him and... and I guess I finally caved."

She laughed. "I suppose you kinda had to."

"I guess. Anyway - thank you for coming by. I'm glad we could end this so well." He kissed her good bye on the cheek, a gesture which she returned. "And remember - don't be a stranger. You're welcome any time."

"You speak for Harry?"

"I do now," he smiled.

She smiled back and gave him a little wave on her way out. As she went down the steps she nearly ran into a red-eyed Ursula.

"Peter's leaving!" The girl sobbed a bit.

"Yeah, he is. But..." She racked her brain trying to think of something she could tell the girl to comfort her or ease her impossible crush. "But I'll bet he'd let you visit."

"What happened with you two?" She asked, hiccuping and wiping her eyes.

"We... well, we broke up. Peter likes someone else, more than me."

"More than you? But you're so... what girl could be better than you?" She asked in disbelief; Mary Jane was, in her limited experience, the height of elegance and worldliness.

"No girl," she said, offering Ursula some tissues from her purse. "A boy."

This time Ursula's disbelief caused her tears, and all other facial expressions, to cease. It was almost comical, but MJ caught herself; the girl had things hard enough as they were, she didn't need to be laughed at as well.

"I see," Ursula said softly when she regained her voice. "Well... well... oh!" She dashed into her own apartment, sobbing, and Mary Jane sighed. Hopefully she'd get over it, sooner or later. Leaving the apartment, MJ hurried back to her own; she had to work double shifts the next day to cover one of the girls who'd come down with a sore throat.

_OOO_

The stewardess came over to the first class passenger who was still finishing his brandy.

"Sir?" She leaned over and he turned his head. "Sir, you need to put your seat and tray up. We're beginning our descent into J.F.K. International."

"Of course," he said, downing the rest of the alcohol, handing her the empty cup as he pressed the buttons and made the required adjustments.

The stewardess hurried away as quickly as possible; that man gave her the creeps. Something about his smile, though it might have been more appropriate to call it a leer, made her shiver. And his eyes... she shook her head. She was being ridiculous.

But looking into his eyes, even for a glimspe, made her feel as if she were teetering on the brink of something akin to insanity; controlled, yes, but insanity all the same.

_OOO_

A/N: Yet another chapter, giving a few little glimpses all around of the characters and pushing the development a bit further. And of course, a very special guest appearance at the end ;) There will be a little more action next chapter, a little more romance and maybe even a twist or two. Maybe. No promises. As always, leave a review if you like and stop by next chapter to see what happens.


	22. A Second Homecoming

_OOO_

Amidst the boxes that held his life's possessions, Peter pulled on his Spider-Man suit for the last time in Ditkovitch's run-down room. Swinging out into the night, he made his way down the streets, going building to building, checking for trouble on the streets below. After a few minutes of swinging, he heard a whir next to him.

"What's a nice boy like you doing in a place like this? At this time of night, no less."

"Well, I would have been out earlier, except I had to pack. You see, I have this crazy friend who keeps insisting I move in with him."

"Sounds like a pretty generous guy."

"If a bit arrogant... and pushy..."

"... and enamored..."

"That too."

"So you think you're safe, wandering about this neighborhood?"

"Oh, I think I can handle what comes my way. Nice helmet, by the by."

"Thanks. I miss the wind in my hair but I figured it gave to much away. After all, who could forget the sight of such gorgeous locks?" A ball of web fluid splatted on the side of his helmet. "Hey! Do you know how long that will take to clean off?!"

"Well, maybe if you're nice your new roomie will do your laundry."

"Will he be doing all the cooking and cleaning? Staying barefoot in the kitchen?"

"Don't even think about it. Besides, I thought you _liked _to cook."

"You've got me there. And is that..."

"Looks like we have a little excitement tonight."

Harry swooped down and Peter shot a line of webbing nearer the site of a mugging. A few well-placed shots of webbing and some punches from Viridian settled the matter, but not before one of them had gotten in a good shot to Harry's stomach. Though it was padded, it was still sore sometimes where his scars were.

"That was a bit harder than I expected," Harry remarked once they had left the scene, slightly short of breath.

"And yet oh so much easier than Gwen is going to be," Peter remarked with the barest amount of sarcasm.

"On that cheery note - should we head on home? I'm not picking up anything too big from the police scanner."

"You have the scanner with you? How?"

"You mean I didn't tell you? I worked a way to wire a miniaturized one into my helmet. I'll have one for you that you can use in your ear beneath the mask as soon as I can."

"Didn't know you were so tech-savvy."

"I've picked up one or two things. Mostly out of necessity. And by asking one or two awkward questions to people who will hopefully never connect any dots."

"Such as?"

"Nothing big. One or two things on miniaturization and the like. Apart from that I figured it out myself."

"Nicely done, then."

"Thanks," he replied, a hint of pride entering into his voice.

"And if you're sure nothing big is going on - I could use some sleep."

"Same here. Bernard and I have been prepping for your arrival."

"Oh?"

"Yeah; but we want it to be a bit of a surprise so you'll just have to imagine until tomorrow."

"How is Bernard? I haven't seen him around much of late."

"He's fine. I think he wanted to give us 'our space.' Apparently he figured things out too, once I came back."

"Damn it!"

"What?"

"It's just... I feel a bit stupid. Not seeing it, in you or myself."

"Don't. It was - well, it was just one of those things. I only regret the wasted time."

"Then I suppose we'll just have to make up for it," Peter said playfully.

"I like the sound of that. Though can it wait until tomorrow? I'm wiped."

"Too tired for making out? To use a cliche, who are you and what have you done with Harry?"

"Ha, ha. Can't a guy get exhausted?"

"You'll get exhausted alright - if you ever give me the chance."

"Enough already!" He laughed. "Tomorrow, OK?"

"The sun will come out?"

"Don't even start," he swung the Sky Stick around and pointed it in the direction of the penthouse. "I'm going to bed. Seriously. Right this second." For a moment he hesitated, then flew off.

Following suit, Peter swung back to his apartment. The bed felt lumpier than he remembered, probably a result of his getting used to the bedrooms at Harry's place. He wondered what Harry had done with the room, as he turned over and punched his pillow to make it more comfortable. Stretching out, he finally managed to fall asleep. His sore muscles welcomed the rest but inwardly he felt rather cold; his body missed warmth and the solitary apartment was isolated. Even knowing Harry was down the hall had been a comfort.

Moving in suddenly seemed much more appealing than it ever had before.

_OOO_

The next morning Harry practically charged into the apartment, a huge grin on his face.

"Ready to get going?"

"Uhn..."

"Come on, sleepy." Harry landed on the edge of the mattress with a bounce and shook Peter. "Get up, let's get going! It's nearly eight!"

"Harry... 'm not even awake... well, barely. 'S too early..."

"Come on - I've already got a Hummer downstairs waiting! It should have enough room in it. What should I take first?"

Sitting up with a yawn, Peter gestured all around him. "Anything really. I don't have a lot of breakables, but anything that is I clearly marked. Large letters. Even you couldn't miss them," he smirked and got a light punch to the shoulder. "I'm going to grab a shower but you can get a start if you want. I'll help out as soon as possible."

"Sounds good to me." Without warning, he turned Peter's head towards him and kissed him. "And then... then it will be just us."

"But Gwen..."

"Don't think about that," Harry whispered. "Don't think about anything except think about you and me and the future we're going to have..." His kisses began to wander, over Peter's forehead and cheeks and nose, before returning to his mouth.

"Harry..." He murmured.

"It's so... so..." He swallowed. "It's more than I ever expected. To be allowed to touch you, your face, your hands, your body... kiss you, hold you..." Peter pulled him into another kiss and his speech ceased.

"Keep talking like that and I'll let you do just about anything," Peter grinned when they broke apart.

"Promise you'll never leave me and that will be enough." He gripped Peter in a crushing embrace.

"Not a chance." He kissed Harry's neck. "You'll never be rid of me."

Harry eased his grip and looked around the room, standing and picking a box at random. "I'll just get started with these then," he said, blushing a bit, at big chagrined at his emotional outburst.

"I'll get that shower," Peter nodded, still smiling.

A little over an hour later, all of the boxes had been loaded, the final rent bill had been settled with Mr. Ditkovich and Peter was in the front seat, waiting impatiently as Harry pulled up to the penthouse. His leaving had been easier than he'd anticipated. Even Ursula had come out of her room, her eyes still watery, to say her goodbyes and got a number to contact them in the future if she needed someone to talk to.

Once they got to the penthouse, Harry forced Peter to close his eyes while they were in the elevator. He tied a sash around them and put his own hands on top of Peter's eyes for good measure then lead him in a stumbling fashion up the stairs and down the hall to where the bedrooms were.

"I figured you would rather have your own room, at least at first," Harry explained as they went along. "Since we did only just start going out explicitly. Making the transition easier and all that."

"Well thanks for your consideration," Peter laughed. "Yeah, it will probably be less awkward and all. I'd like to wait a bit... for certain things anyway."

"I thought that might be the case. Though hopefully not on everything..."

"You'll just have to see, won't you?" He teased.

Harry laughed and it was several more moments before they came to an abrupt halt. "And here we are! You can open your eyes now." Removing his hands and untying the sash, Harry reached for the door knob. With a twist, the door swung open, revealing the room beyond.

As soon as Peter opened his eyes, he was confronted with the sight of a bright and cheerful, yet still obviously lavish, bedroom. Everything had been done over in a theme of blue and red, from the paint on the walls to the bedsheets. Peter smoothed the sheets with his hand and knew from touch alone that they were even better than the ones he'd slept on in the guestroom.

"They're 100 percent Egyptian cotton and have a 600 thread count," Harry informed him. "And what do you think of the posters?"

Peter looked around him; the walls were hung with a variety of Spider-Man posters in light plastic frames. "Nice touch."

"Thanks. I was hoping you'd like it. Didn't think you could resist a bit of basking in your own glory. The closet and dresser are already about half full - I couldn't resist, sorry about that - but there should be plenty of space for your stuff. I'll start bringing the boxes up. Go ahead and explore for a bit, check things out and see where everything is."

With that, he disappeared out of the door, leaving Peter alone to find all the nooks and crannies in the place. The first thing Peter did was flop onto the bed and stretch out, enjoying the feeling of the firm but comfortable mattress beneath him. The sheets alternated between red and blue and he wondered to himself, bemused, why Harry hadn't gone all out and gotten them in a webbed pattern or something like that. Of course, that might have been overkill, he supposed. The furniture, including a dresser, an end table, a bookcase and a desk, was all made of some sort of hardwood, probably oak; it was polished and bright, nothing at all like the deep mahogany that appeared so frequently throughout the rest of the house.

His dresser and closet had even more clothing than the spare room had - although he recognized some of the shirts and pants. Smiling to himself, he wondered if he'd ever get a chance to wear everything in there. He wondered, too, what his classmates would think when he suddenly started wearing such upscale threads. The black suit had been quite uncharacteristic of him as it was and these clothes were even nicer. Even though it seemed like far too much to him, Peter decided he would wear them. All of his numerous financial objections carried more weight when they were only friends; now that they were dating - well, he could put up with a little spoiling. Harry meant well, after all, and Peter had to admit that Harry had much better taste than he did.

A thump outside the door drew his attention away and he realized that Harry had made it back up with several boxes. Rushing out the door, he joined him in the hallway.

"Need any help?"

"Nah, I'll bring them up. You just start unpacking."

"If you're sure..."

"Of course I'm sure. Go, go!" He waved him back into the room.

Tearing the tape off of the tops of the boxes, Peter began taking out a plethora of heavy text books and putting them on the shelves. Moving aside the laptop Harry had left on the top of the desk, Peter set up his clunky old machine, figuring he would need to get the files off of it before tossing it. There was a small 'entertainment' center in the room too, with a TV/DVD combo, speakers, and a place for CDs and DVDs. What few he had he shelved as well before going back to the boxes for the pictures.

The ones he had of himself and Aunt May or with Harry, he left; the ones of him and Mary Jane, however, and particularly the obviously romantic ones, he slid out of their frames and into the desk drawer. He supposed he would put them into an album later, but for now that chapter in his life was behind him and he didn't feel right leaving up remembrances of it all over the place for Harry to see. After he was finished setting out whatever other knick knacks he'd brought, he slid his clothing into the drawers and on hangers in the closet. They looked a bit shabby next to the ones Harry had left for him, but they were comfortable and held good memories.

"Done!" Harry dropped the last box onto the floor with a thus. "Damn, Pete, I had no idea how many books you had! I think you have more books in these boxes than I've read in my life!"

"Comes with the college territory," Peter laughed and put them next to the ones he'd already shelved.

"Then I'm glad they're your lot and not mine. You are, after all, the brains of this outfit."

"Good to hear you adm-AIE! Harry!" He gasped in pained laughter as Harry snuck up from behind him and gave him a playful poke in the side.

"What?" He faked an innocent look but couldn't supress his own laughter.

Once he was able to breathe normally again, Peter looked at him with a smile and sighed.

"What is it?"

"Nothing, really. It's just... it's good to see you happy. Really and truly happy."

They straightened up the rest of the room and when they were finished, Harry looked at Peter, his lips still curved in a smile but one of a more serious bent.

"Peter? I've been thinking..."

The comment opened itself to repartee but Peter made no such reply. Instead he simply drew near and responded in an equally serious tone. "Yes Harry?"

"Things are best done sooner rather than later. Wouldn't you say so?"

"That's what Aunt May tells me. I'm a bit of a procrastinator myself but... I think I know what you mean." The levity of the morning evaporated and he found himself studying the carpet. "I suppose you're suggesting tonight, then?"

"Yes. Yes, I think so. You said I was truly happy but... but I can't be. Not with this hanging over us. I may seem so, in moments when I can deceive myself into forgetting that you - that _we're_ - in danger. But I want this over with Peter. One way or another."

"And if it ends badly?"

Harry sat down on the bed and exhaled. "I'd like to pretend that I'm not selfish; that I could give myself, everything up for you. And I could give up a lot, don't doubt me. I died once, I would do it again and I mean that sincerely. But... I'm sorry Peter. I'll do what I have to. It's... It's just that, win or lose..."

"... you want me to be with you," Peter finished, sitting next to him and taking Harry's hand in his own. Positioned on Harry's right, he reached out and stroked the scars. "As much as I play the selfless hero - I want that too Harry." Their fingers twined together and Peter's blue eyes met Harry's misty brown ones. Tears threatened to spill but Peter kissed them away before they could fall. "Then we promise, here and now, for better or for worse, that wherever we go or end up, we go together."

"Together," Harry repeated in a low voice, thick with emotion. "I swear it. Even if it drags us both into hell - I'd go there for you."

"And I would do no less for you."

They met in a kiss, love mingled with the dread of being torn apart, as the clock on the wall faintly but persistently ticked away the seconds and minutes.

_OOO_

A/N: Sorry for the wait on this one; a combination of things held it up, but hopefully the P/H-centricity will make up for the delay. More action is ahead to balance out the humor, romance and tiny bits of angst. More of the rest of the cast will appear as well. And there are a few surprises in store too; some conjectures come close and others are a bit, or even far, off. But whatever comes, I hope you have and continued to enjoy. Reviews, encouraging and otherwise, are always appreciated and the next chapter will be out soon - promise. :)  



	23. Black Magic Woman

_OOO _

"Are you ready?" Harry raised an eyebrow as he cinched Peter's navy silk necktie and fastened it in place with a tie pin. They were in Peter's room, making the final preparations for a evening that promised to be unforgettable, in one way or another.

"No! I'm sweating like a pig! This isn't going to work, Harry, she's going to know, she'll figure it out..."

"Calm down," He murmured, smoothing down the other's lapels. "Don't panic. You can do this."

"I can't even tie my own tie, that's how bad my hands are shaking!"

"That has nothing to do with your hands shaking," Harry grinned and gave him a peck on the cheek. "There you go. All done. And let me tell you - you look quite the gentleman."

Peter sighed impatiently. "I wish you wouldn't do that," he mumbled, fidgeting with the buttons on his blazer.

"Do what?" Harry's eyebrows quirked upward.

"I wish you wouldn't act so flippant!" He snapped, losing his temper for a moment and regretting it immediately. He reached out and gave Harry's arm a fond squeeze. "I'm sorry. I'm on edge, it's nothing you did..."

"I have to," he responded cooly, turning away from Peter.

"What?"

"If I don't... if I don't joke about this I'm going to go crazy. You know how nervous I am! I feel like I want to vomit, I'm so tense. And if I don't do something to defuse the situation, at lesat in my own mind..." He shook his head. "I'm sorry, too. I didn't mean to make light of it."

"I understand." He exhaled and sat down on the bed, moving from fidgeting with his buttons to fidgeting with a pillow. "Times like this, you're grateful for stupidity. In our line of work it usually makes the job easier. Right now I'd give just about anything to be facing Eddie instead of Gwen."

"We're not, though. Don't forget that." Harry adjusted his Viridian armor in the mirror and frowned, looking at his face from different angles. His father's voice had, at least, been thankfully silent since Peter had come. The pressure of dealing with him on top of a symbiotic Gwen would have been a mental bridge too far. "Does my makeup look alright?"

"What are you worried for? You'll be wearing the mask!"

"That's not what I asked! Humor me, OK? How do I look?"

"You look good. Don't touch it though, you'll smudge it."

"Yeah, I know." He grabbed the gloves from off of the top of the desk. "So, one last review," he said as he tugged them up around his wrists while they walked down the hall. "Flint is in place?"

"Yes."

"And you've completely sealed the building with webbing?" They started down the stairs to the main room, where the Sky Stick was waiting for Harry.

"Except for the entrance."

"And if the sand doesn't work?"

"Trinity Church. Flint's already been over. All those bells should be able to do something." Peter bounded off the steps into the antique-filled room, Harry one step behind him.

"And you have the suit on underneath."

"Definitely."

"Well then, I can't think of anything else. Shall we?"

"Let's step out."

As Peter turned to go out to the garage, Harry grabbed him and pulled him into one last bone-crushing hug. Then he grabbed the Sky Stick from where it was resting against the wall and was out of the window just as Peter caught his breath and turned around.

"Good-bye," Peter whispered to the empty ledge. The breeze that billowed the curtains made him suddenly shiver and he clasped the windows shut, unsettled and afraid. For a moment he'd seen past the drapery and the glass, into the deepening New York night, and it had seemed endlessly dark and starless.

_OOO_

The situation might have been funny, Gwen thought, if it hadn't been so pathetic. Peter called her up and agreed to meet her for dinner, under the pretense of acquiescing. He claimed that he wanted to ensure she didn't involve Harry so he was ready to give himself up. They met in a bar downtown and agreed to take a cab to a restaurant uptown.

The first few moments _had _been a bit of a surprise; she was aware that they were being followed by Harry in that ridiculous armor of his and she had been keeping mental tabs on him. Therefore, when the cab was swept off to the side by a sudden and crushing wave of sand, she had been momentarily caught off guard. Initially she hadn't found anything amusing in the situation; being in the middle of a sandstorm was like nothing she had ever experienced, nor ever wanted to again. Before the suit slid over her skin it felt as if her flesh was peeling off, and even with the suit on it was scouring her. Seeing the black and red writhe over her, trying to stay on despite the abrasive force, Gwen realized what they were trying to do.

Furious as she and the symbiote were (though it was getting increasingly difficult to tell who was who anymore), she had to admit that it was clever, their attempt to flay it off her body. Her grudging admiration, however, was followed swiftly by a rush of unreasoning rage. How dare they! Not that she hadn't been expecting a trap; they were too good, too heroic to think of doing otherwise. The easy way was never an option she'd expected them to weigh seriously; her offer had been more rhetorical than anything else. But that they should have thought of a plan not only unexpected, but also so painful, made her seethe.

For a few long moments her body was in agony and she couldn't see anything save a golden wall of rushing sand. Outside the circumference of the storm she was vaguely aware that both Spider-Man and Viridian were waiting somewhere up above, presumably in the event that things did not go well. While the sand had not yet managed to seperate her from the symbiote, the pain was enormous and, try as it might, the symbiote was having difficulty staying attatched. She needed to do something quickly or they would succeed.

Racing, her mind went to thoughts of any weaknesses sand might have. It could suffocate her or bury her, to be sure, so she needed to be careful. She might only get one shot before the creature - wasn't his name Marcus or something? - decided to use more agressive tactics on her. Despite all of her strength, she still needed oxygen and with enough pressure her body could still be crushed. But what was available that she could use against him? Slashing at him with her claws was useless; the sand simply slid around her digits, unharmed.

Then thoughts of the beach came to her, of breakers washing over the shore, eroding and overpowering. Water. That was the answer, what she needed. But where would she find it? Desperately, she leaped and managed to see out of the storm. The building they were in was old and dilapidated. Even if she had the means of starting a fire or cutting a line, she doubted the place had a sprinkler system that was usable. And fire would put herself at risk. There was no advantage in using something that could be turned against her so easily. The sand bore down on her again and her desperation grew.

Furiously, she clawed her way against the sand, across the floor and to the wall. There was one advantage to staying partially within the sandstorm; as long as it was raging, Peter couldn't come down to battle her without being harmed himself and the thick cloud of sand didn't even permit him a clear shot with webbing. Even if he couldn't fight physically, however, he could still strategize.

"It isn't working, Flint!" She heard his voice rising above the rushing whoosh of the sand. "Quick, before she tries something - plan B!"

Whatever that plan was, Gwen didn't intend to allow them to see it through to fruiting. Behind her the sand was gathering and forming into a large, looming shape. However, the moment of release from the sand gave her the opportunity she needed. With a roar, she punched through the wall and leapt out onto the street before Peter could stop her. There on the sidewalk was her first stroke of luck, a fire hydrant that seemed to be just waiting for her. The cover was torn off in an instant and a pounding stream of water slammed through the hole she'd made in the side of the building, widening it with its force.

"Flint!"

There was a cry and when she pounded her way back, crawling up the side then smashing a window, she saw that the floor was drenched and coated with wet, muddy sand. Water was still pouring through and, looking below, she saw that both Peter and Harry had swooped down in concern over Flint. She wanted to laugh, but checked herself, as any noise would have revealed her position. Instead she flung out her own line of dark, oily-looking webbing and swung down at breakneck speed, pouncing upon Harry and knocking him off of his Sky Stick with a bone-crunching kick.

Harry and Peter, caught unprepared and concerned over Flint, had gone down to try and see what they should do.

"It should be OK," Peter tried to reassure Harry in a voice more hysterical than anything else. "I mean, I did this once before and he seemed to come back OK, I think he just needs time to dry out and it should be -"

"GAH!"

"Harry!"

A stabbing sensation in Harry's side as he crumpled on the floor made him wince; his ribs were probably broken, although he had not, apparently, punctured a lung. Struggling, he stood and saw that Gwen was battling Peter. As much as he admired Peter it was evident, as with the last battle, that Peter was not much of a match for the enraged symbiote. Gwen was absolutely thrashing him. Unlike Eddie, who had toyed with Peter and strung him up, Gwen had him absolutely bound. She had slashed through his webbing but he was caught up in hers, and the attention of her claws had now shifted to his body.

His mouth had been webbed shut but the pain in his eyes was all too evident. Blood mixed with water from the hydrant, coloring the sand a shade of pink that was incongruously delicate. Harry rushed at her but was pummeled with unrelenting fists. Before long he was sprawled on the floor in even more pain than he had been earlier. All of their worst fears had come true and Gwen was every bit the adversary they'd been worried she would be. She didn't mess about or play around; one opening was all she needed to turn the tide against them. They'd overlooked a possibility, just a slight one but a weakness nevertheless, and she had exploited it for all it was worth and more.

Shaking his head, Harry tried to mount one more offensive. However, this time, his body gave out before his will did. Oozing blood and stiff from the beating, he collapsed onto the floor.

Leaving Peter bound hand and foot, Gwen turned towards him and smirked. The symbiote outfit slid back; the teeth disappeared, the claws retracted, the blank eyes gave way to Gwen's expressive green ones. Smirking, a beautiful woman in evening dress emerged, her heeled sandals clicking as she made her way across the wet, sandy floor. Regarding the two heros, wet and bedraggled, nothing but dark amusement came to mind. Some heroes the city had.

"You lose," she laughed.

"Please..."

"So if you've lost, what do you think I should win?"

"Take me... please... just..."

"I could take you both." She bent down next to him "But you'd like that wouldn't you?" She yanked Harry upwards, every nerve of his screaming in pain, and slammed him against the wall. Pinning him with one hand, the black ooze of the symbiote coiled around her other hand and she strung him up to the wall. Once he was secured, she removed his mask with a violent upward pull. "Care to watch?" Her face shone with delighted malice. "It might be the last time you get to see him after all."

"But... but you said..." His mouth was filled with the bitter tang of blood. "You said... both... that you would... us..."

"That was before this disgusting display of futile insolence. I _was _willing to compromise. But now..." She smirked. "Now I think I would rather break him. It's obviously not that difficult to do. Before it was better two birds in the hand than one in the bush. Now I see that I needn't have worried. You two capitulated easily enough. Truth is," she leaned in close to his face, wiping off the makeup to reveal the scars underneath, "that I want him all for myself." Then with a look of fierce pleasure she dug her nails into the scarred flesh and dragged them down, leaving long, bloody marks in their wake. Then she straightened up and walked back over to Peter. As an afterthought, she turned around. "Pity for you, though. I can't think of anybody else who could care for such an ugly, useless creature."

Twisting one last time with a final burst of energy, Harry found his bonds unbreakable. He slumped, letting the webbing hold his weight, straining his joints. Peter arched towards him frantically but couldn't pry his lips open. His lungs felt like they would burst from a scream he couldn't release. This was how it would end? Everything they had been through, everything they'd suffered, and he couldn't even say goodbye? Couldn't tell Harry he loved him? Gwen's foot smashed against his head and his world went black.

Hoisting him up on her shoulders and allowing the symbiote to completely coat her body once more, Gwen made for the hole in the wall. Just before she exited, though she could hear sirens in the distance, she stopped and as an afterthought cut Harry down, bound him and lifted him as well.

Punishment was inescapable and she certainly would not permit them any genuine happiness together. But the boy might yet be useful.

_OOO_

A/N: So an ending that some of you might be a bit dissatisfied with... but I can't resist torturing the characters a little longer with a complication or two or twelve. Making things too easy makes them boring and nobody wants that. Much still lies ahead for Peter and Harry both, and I promise that not all of it will be so angsty. And with that, I thank you all for reading and, if you so choose, reviewing. Next chapter - Gwen's plans for Harry and Peter. Muahahahaha. ;)


	24. Devil Out of Me

OOO

When the police arrived, out of a combination of ignorance over what the evidence at the site meant and fear over what it pointed to, they concluded that a fire hydrant had been cut and that caused the destruction in the building. They ignored the claw marks; perhaps a dog had taken up residence in the building for a while. Likewise they ignored the residual webbing that was present; perhaps there has simply been an overabundance of spiders before the disaster struck. They disregarded the reports of sand striking a cab. It had probably been parked by the hydrant. Though it wasn't easy when wet, Flint managed to clear himself off the floor well enough to deflect suspicion. Besides, everybody knew that the Sandman had been gone from the city for months.

The result was that no report was made of the occurrence being anything other than a terrible accident, without them realizing how deeply the word 'terrible' applied.

OOO

The entire night passed before Flint was able to, literally, pull himself together; when he did, he had no idea of where to go or what to go with himself. Having no place else to go, he returned to the Osborn penthouse to find it devoid of both Harry and Peter. The only person he found was Bernard who reported that neither Harry nor Peter had been there for the entire time. Remembering the beating the two had experienced, Flint was sure their absence boded no good. However, he wasn't sure of what to do or where to start.

While he was pondering what courses of action might be available to him, he heard another voice talking to Bernard. Standing up, he started towards the source of the sound, hoping it might be Harry or Peter, if not both. However, as he drew near, he realized that the voice was different than either of theirs.

"And they haven't been back all day? Haven't attempted any contact? You're sure?"

"I'm sure, Mr. Murdock."

Flint saw the red-headed man with dark glasses and he nearly retreated. Even if the man was blind, no reason to let him know somebody else was in the house lest it lead to awkward questions. Yet the man seemed to know he was there; his head looked up in Flint's direction and he walked towards him, brushing past Bernard.

"You were there, weren't you?" He said. "Flint, correct? The Sandman?"

Flint was stunned and wondered how he knew. He was blind, wasn't he? Maybe it was all just an act the lawyer put on. "Um, yeah?" His voice was slow and gravely.

"What happened to them? I assume you know something of it. They were planning the attack with you, weren't they?" He frowned. "I'm sorry I couldn't help; I'm beginning to get worried. You survived though. Are they in trouble?"

"Yeah... yeah, I think so. I mean... the symbiote. She ripped open a hydrant, completely washed me away. Then she beat them up, took them." A confused look settled across his features. "How do you know all this? I thought you were just a lawyer."

"Never mind that. You want to help them don't you? Because if you do, you're going to have to trust me."

Flint was apprehensive, but figured that if he knew so much, Harry and Peter must trust him, and that was good enough for Flint. He launched into a more detailed description of the fight, concluding it with his ignorance over where they might be. A moment slipped by in silence while Matthew paused to consider.

"Any ideas?" Flint asked to break the silence.

"None right now. The problem is that we don't know where they are. Finding that out is the first step we have to take. Otherwise none of our plans will amount to anything. Since you already told me that you don't know where she took them and she didn't drop any hints or leave any clues, I suppose the only option left is a physical search of some sort. I suppose I ought to to begin with their last known location. Could you tell me where the attack was?" Flint told him the address and Matthew made a mental note of it. "Thank you. I'm sorry I wasn't able to help." He frowned. "I might have been able to prevent this. Perhaps it was wisdom that I stay behind, but still..."

"You?" Flint looked at him curiously. "But you... you're blind."

Matthew sighed. "I suppose it's time for an explanation..."

OOO

When Harry finally regained consciousness, the room he found himself in was every bit as dark as when his eyes were closed. His body felt more sore and worn than after his disfiguring fight with Peter, which he had to grudgingly admit was quite an accomplishment. Coughing, he spat up saliva mixed with blood and tried to shift into a more comfortably position. When he attempted to sit up, as his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, he noticed for the first time what position he had, quite literally, been put in. Bound like Peter had been, hand and foot, Harry realized he was unable to move in any significant way. He grunted and, with a soft click, the lights came on and momentarily blinded him.

"Good to see you're up," the symbiote grinned.

Harry attempted to clamp down on his rage and asked the question foremost in his mind. "Where's Peter?"

"Oh, he'll be out in a few. I wanted to check on how you were doing first. After all, I wouldn't want you to miss the show."

"Show?" He growled, writhing to escape his bonds. "What the hell are you planning?"

"You'll have to wait and see. I don't want to spoil the surprise." She turned her head to the door. "Peter! Get in here!"

Peter appeared at the doorway, looking beaten and downtrodden. His skin was splotched with bruises and there was dried blood crusted on various abrasions. He looked at Harry apologetically.

"She said she'd kill you if I didn't behave," he croaked.

"And I still might," she snapped. "You know, I can't understand you Peter. You had everything. You had power, you had strength - you could have had me. And what do you throw it away for? For a disfigured former pretty boy who can't do a damn thing and will probably lose his company, and an ineffectual method of fighting crime. Aggression is strength, Peter. And your stubborn refusal to kill is idiotic and worse, damaging. You think some of the men you web up don't wind up going free? If you catch them in the act, if you know what somebody is, _make _them pay!"

"I won't believe that this is Gwen talking," Peter replied sullenly.

"You'll come to believe it. Just like you'll come to see sense, even if I have to force the issue. I'm tired of waiting and tired of your defiance. Yet I'm not utterly unreasonable. That's why I'm offering you a choice." She stepped closer to Peter stroking his face suggestively. "You can either let me have my way, right here and now, with Harold over there watching or I will kill him and then do as I please anyway."

"Beast," he muttered with the tired tone of one who knows his insults and feelings of repugnance have no effect.

"You're such a sweet-talker. But there it is. And if you don't make a choice, I'll flip a coin."

Peter looked at the ground and his body gave an involuntary shudder. "Fine. Do it. All I ask is that you don't hurt him."

"Pete! No! Don't mind me," he urged. "Run. Don't look back."

"Harry, you know I can't do that."

"That's what I was counting on," Gwen grinned. "Look at him," she leered at Harry. "Look at how he trembles, look how unsettled he is. It's his first time isn't it? Well, I can promise you, it won't be pleasant." She crouched down and looked Harry in the eyes. "It won't be pleasant and no matter what else happens you will have to live with the knowledge of two things: that I had him first and that you were there and could not stop it. Oh, and you will watch; if you don't, if I ever catch you looking away - I'll kill him."

Pressing his lips together, Harry tried to shut down every semblance of feeling he had, staring coldly ahead of him for fear Gwen might punish Peter if he did otherwise. She left the lights on so that he could see each and every sordid act she performed, observe each and every indignity she forced upon Peter. Peter's face contorted, caught between the shame he felt and the sensations his body was reacting to. Pulling off the Spider-Suit, Peter's scars became visible, reminders of lacerations that, injurious as they were, did not cause Peter half the pain he was experiencing at Gwen's hands.

As the scene unfolded, Peter felt mortified and embarrassed that Harry was watching, while Harry was silently infuriated at his inability to intervene for fear of making matters worse. Yet despite the disparity in their emotional states, their thoughts were one and the same.

_Stay alive. Just stay alive. Whatever you have to do, whatever she forces upon you, I can forgive, as long as you come back to me._

Teeth came down and Peter whimpered. An elongated tongue lathed across his body, leaving a sheen of saliva as it went. Then the symbiote unsheathed its claws and Peter screamed. She slammed him into the carpet, drove into him, maneuvered him and dug into his scalp, his back, his thighs, his arms, until red rivulets ran the length of his body, dripping onto the floor. Harry started but checked himself; better bloody than dead, he thought bitterly.

_And it will only continue like this, _Harry realized._ So long as we are both alive, she knows we'd do anything to keep each other alive, if not unharmed. I would like to call her bluff but... but it hurt so much, dying like that, knowing I was leaving him. I can't leave him alone; I don't want to be left alone. Yet if our plan didn't work, if she wants us to suffer..._

Peter looked towards him with wide eyes, the same eyes he had in high school right before he was about to be beaten up. Memories of a defenseless Peter, a Peter who looked to Harry, surfaced and all rational thought went out of his mind. She needed Peter, she didn't want him to die; if he did, the symbiote would lose a source of power, a possibility of reproducing. Even if Peter was disposable, it was better to end everything quickly than prolong the suffering. If the unthinkable happened, Harry thought, they would at least die together. No matter what Gwen did, if Peter died he wouldn't last much longer. By the end of the way, their lips would touch or their blood would mingle.

Enraged, he tore his feet apart, ripping his flesh in the process, and charged at Gwen, blood rushing to his head. The symbiote shrieked with what Harry presumed was anger and frustration as it was torn off Peter; he rolled on his side, trying to get up on shaky legs. She stood and flew at Harry; but as Peter turned, standing, he could see a certain madness in Harry's features and for a moment he wasn't sure who to fear more. Ignoring the skin being shredded by the claws, Harry's hands closed around what might have been her throat and he throttled her with all he had.

Using a combination of the few fundamentals Matt had taught them and punches and kicks fueled by his own virulent anger, Harry smashed her into the wall of the apartment. Blood was beginning to spatter the paint and the carpet and he was making holes in the drywall, but Harry couldn't see anything except the face of Peter's rapist. His own body was being torn so badly it was painful and Peter moved to intervene. Before he could, however, a nightmare he'd hardly expected was fulfilled to his horror.

As Harry was locked in combat with Gwen, the symbiote suddenly reared up and sludged onto Harry, his power and anger an irresistible draw. Invigorated with the further power the symbiote lent, Harry didn't bother to check himself; he set upon her until she stopped moving. Now fully clothed with the symbiote, he turned to Peter who regarded him with horror; yet when he stretched his arms out to the brunette, Peter walked into his arms and the symbiote retreated, revealing Harry's face beneath the black coating.

"We're leaving," he whispered. "Quickly."

A rapid search through the apartment led Harry to the Sky Stick which was, to his great surprise, still operational. Peter got them pajama pants and t-shirts, both of which were a bit small, but were suitable for appearing normal. Their costumes had been completely shredded and would do little good in covering them up. They were about to take off on the fire escape when Peter grabbed Harry's arm.

"Harry..."

"Yeah? What? Hurry, we need to get out of here."

"Harry, don't you think that was a little bit easy?"

"Easy?! Are you crazy? You know what she, what it did back there! You call that easy? My wrists and ankles are completely raw and I have more claw marks than I can count. That was _not _easy - lucky, maybe, but not easy."

"Luck isn't... it doesn't happen like that Harry. It goaded you; and now it's on you. And I'm frightened."

Harry looked at him, confused. "What are you talking about, Pete?"

"The symbiote! What if - what if it wasn't just about me? She said before that you would be suitable too and you were the one who got angry. I just got scared, but you got furious."

"Of course I did! She.. she violated my boyfriend in front of my eyes. Who wouldn't get furious?"

"And don't you think that might be what the symbiote was counting on? First of all, if it had wanted to bind you so that you couldn't escape, it would have. I'm not saying it was easy ripping out of its bonds; but the fact that you could is, to me, suspicious. She could have done a full body bind on you if she'd cared to. Also, you weren't fighting Gwen two minutes before it dumped her and went for you. And somehow I wonder if that wasn't part of the plan from the start. What if... if offspring were only part of the equation?"

"Let me get this straight. You're saying that all this... this shit was to see if it could piss me off enough to make me a suitable host?"

He nodded. "Well, me or you, probably. Whichever seemed more suitable. It feeds off of aggressive emotions like hatred; but I didn't hate her. I was just scared out of my wits. You, though... point is, Harry, we need to get that stuff off you as quickly as possible before it takes an even deeper hold."

Harry turned away. "No."

"What?!"

"I said no, Pete."

"But... but Harry! You've seen what it can do, you know what it did to me and to Eddie and to Gwen..."

"That suit saved us, saved you." He turned to Peter, intent, and held his face, lifting it up. "I almost lost you tonight. I couldn't defend you when I was plain old Harry, even with the formula coursing through my veins. I was no match for that thing when it was just on her, never mind it being on someone like you. Each time I faced it, I got thrashed. But now it's working for me." Peter opened his mouth to protest but Harry put his hand over Peter's lips. "No, Peter. I don't want to hear it. Look, I know you probably won't think so, but I can control it. It will do what I want it to, not the other way around. And it will give me the strength to make sure this never happens again."

Peter tugged himself away. "You're wrong. You're wrong Harry, if you keep that thing on I'll lose you. I don't want to hurt you - but I'm not going to see you go the way of Eddie and Gwen." He stepped closer and looked up at Harry, his eyes gleaming with purpose. "You know what you look like when that thing covers you? When it's completely enclosed you? You look like your father, Harry. It twists into that same crazy grin, that stupid leer he fashioned that mask into that still haunts my nightmares. Except now it's real and it's on you and I can't bear that." He swallowed and shook for a moment before steadying himself. "Take the suit off. Or I'll... I'll fight you!"

Harry scoffed. "Fight me? Now? You're in worse shape than I am. You can't be serious. Look - don't you trust me? I'm still Harry, in this suit or out of it. It just makes me... stronger. More capable."

"I wore it too - and I know that's what I thought at first and I know it isn't true! It brings out the worst in you."

"So what are you saying?" His expression grew dark. "That I'm the same as he was? As crazy and fucked up as my psycho father?"

"Harry, that's not it, it's not like that... it's..."

"It is like that! You know, I'm beginning to get tired of this. I save you and the first thing you do is turn on me!"

"Listen to yourself!" Peter pleaded, halfway to hysterical. "Nobody is turning on you!"

"Then don't lecture me about my own good. I know what is for my own good - and it's the suit. Without it I might lose you, and that isn't happening!"

"With it, I'll lose you," Peter insisted. "I... I'm sorry Harry. But I have to."

Leaping onto the side of a building opposite the apartment he tried to web Harry, hoping that he could bind him long enough to drag him to a bell. Instead, the symbiote suit sprang around him and he grabbed the line of webbing, yanking Peter off of the building and down onto the streets below. His body hit with a thud and the symbiote suit suddenly retracted, revealing a horrified and panicked Harry.

"Peter!" He clambered down a bit then leaped from the escape in a jump that might have broken the legs of another man. He ran to Peter, as Peter had run to him in a darkened alley not that long ago, frantic and hoping that he hadn't done something he would regret forever. "Pete, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to!" He felt for a pulse and found it, fluttering just below the surface. Peter was bleeding and moaned softly when Harry tried to lift him.

_Leave him._

Harry froze; the voice wasn't his father's. It wasn't even a voice really, just a vague urge. Self-preservation came first after all; the sun was beginning to come up and he needed to avoid awkward questions. Gwen might stir and call the police at any time and then there would be even more trouble. He needed to get out of there and Peter would only be a hindrance.

Then he looked down at Peter's face and, in a moment of clarity, understood and was disgusted with himself. Picking Peter up as gentle as possible, Harry kissed him and lifted, getting onto the Sky Stick.

"Hold on to me, OK?"

Peter clutched him wordlessly and Harry took off at full speed for the bells of Trinity church. The symbiote understood, but instead of abandoning him it decided that, were it its fate to face destruction once more, it would at least make Harry pay. Digging in, it began to do as much damage as possible. The taste of blood filled Harry's mouth and his bones felt like they were breaking. Still he kept his hold on Peter, refusing to let go. He wanted to get him help but was suddenly wildly afraid of what might happen, what he might become if he didn't remove the symbiote immediately. If Peter died from his injuries... Harry's eyes stung with something that might have been tears and, unbidden, a scene arose in his mind from a play he'd been forced to attend in which school. The image of an imposing Moor strangling the woman he loved, lashing out in jealousy and anger, came to Harry and he spurred the Sky Stick on faster.

With a clatter Harry crashed onto the floor of the bell tower. He set Peter down and, bleeding from what felt like every orifice he possessed, he struggled over to the switch that made the mechanized bells chime. With a grinding sound, they began to ring and the symbiote writhed in agony, as he ripped it off in rope-like gobs. It hurt even more than Harry had expected and when it was removed, the wounds he'd received from Gwen bled freshly. As they rang, Peter stirred and ran over to Harry, helping him to rip it away from his body.

"Thank you," he whispered and Harry, blushing, did nothing but nod.

When the last ring had ceased Harry slumped down, exhausted, and Peter couldn't bring himself to move Harry. He wouldn't rouse and Peter was far too sore and tired to carry him. For a moment, he realized he ought to try and contain the symbiote, but it was moving quickly and he had nothing to trap it with. Instead, he ended up slumped next to Harry, curled up in the shadows and softly snoring.

Far below the symbiote dripped onto the stone floor of the church; it was not there for long, however. Though it longed for a host, it found itself in a containment jar of sorts. It could sense a powerful host quite nearby, but a layer of some manner of plastic separated them. A face that it could not see grinned down at the symbiote.

"Fool of a boy, not to keep it." He looked up, pausing to consider. "But that would be too easy, wouldn't it? And I do love a challenge. In the meanwhile, I think it might be time to pay a visit to Miss Stacey..."

As the dawn broke, the crime of her symbiote was visited upon Gwen.

OOO

A/N: Ok, this is the second revision of this chapter and I might further revise it. I think this might have cleared up some inconsistencies and made everything a little more realistic. I hope. Anyway, further comments on how to improve this chapter would be much appreciated and the next chapter will be posted shortly after most of the details of this one are solidified. Thanks for reading... again. And I'll have Ch. 25 up shortly. Hopefully.


	25. Lies and Consequences

NOTE: Before you start to read, the previous chapter was heavily edited as of July 4-5th. Rereading it to see the changes would be advisable if you have not done so already.

_OOO_

Hours passed before the two in the bell tower finally stirred, having slept soundly enough that they missed the bells chiming several times. Peter woke first and stroked Harry's chin until his eyes fluttered open.

"Morning," Harry winced; he was sure something was wrong inside.

"Try afternoon. Early evening. Something like that."

"Oh." He sat up and looked around. "We've been sleeping." He stretched and rubbed his neck. "Damn, I'm sore. Feels like my insides met with a meat grinder," he grumbled before his eyes widened in realization and he looked apprehensively at Peter. "Pete, I'm sorry..."

"Harry," Peter pressed his fingers to Harry's lips. "Harry, we need to clear something up. Last night... last night never happened. None of it. Not with her, not with you. Nothing. I just want to go home and take a shower. A nice, long, hot shower. And maybe watch a movie?"

A thousand thoughts flitted through Harry's mind; appropriate, stereotypical things that people - especially hero types - were supposed to say in such situations.

"Please Harry. Nothing happened. _Nothing_. Right?" He pleaded. "I just want to go home... nice and safe and... and..."

Wrapping his arms around Peter, Harry pulled him into his lap and kissed the crown of his head. "Nothing happened. There was a scuffle. That's all. Nothing else." He kissed him again. "What movie do you want to watch? Anything you like. If I don't own it, I'll go out and buy it."

"Don't leave!"

"Then I'll have Bernard get it." He eased Peter off his lap and turned him around to look him in the eye. "Are you alright?"

"I will be. Let's just leave, OK?" Peter's gaze dropped and his finger traced patterns on Harry's thigh.

"Of course."

As they stood to leave, a wind rushed through the tower and sand began piling up on the floor. Flint formed from the particles in the breeze and, though he technically didn't have lungs, exhaled a breath of relief.

"I've been looking everywhere for you two!" His face creased in concern. "Matthew and I were worried something happened."

"If Matthew came to you that meant his staying behind was a good thing," Harry helped Peter to his feet. "At least you came looking."

"At least I wasn't too late. What happened? What did she do?"

"That's..." Harry glanced at Peter. "A bad fight."

"Oh. Well... did you get the symbiote?"

"It... it got away." Harry dodged.

"So you did get it off her?" Flint felt confused. They weren't telling him something but he couldn't understand what, or why they would hide it.

"In a manner of speaking. Look, we're both really tired right now. We'd like to get home and get some rest."

"Need any help?"

"We'll be alright," Peter interjected. "If Harry doesn't mind carrying me?"

Harry broke into a soft grin. "I never mind that." Pain rankled his body, however, as soon as he attempted to lift Peter up.

"Are you sure you'll be OK?" Peter looked at him, worried. "I can try to swing if you're not."

"No, I'm fine. Just might need some looking into. That thing did a number on me. It's you I'm worried about - do you think you have a concussion?"

"I recovered pretty quickly," Peter reassured him. "I should be fine."

Each had his doubts about the wellness of the other, but neither protested any further. Cradling Peter and gritting his teeth to shut out the pain, Harry revved the Sky Stick into action. Flint dematerialized into a particle cloud and carefully surrounded them, obscuring their features from anyone who might be looking up. They made their way back to the penthouse and the moment they were in through the bay windows, Harry shut them and drew the curtains. They weren't going out again that day, at least.

Fatigue crept into every one of his muscles and made Peter feel as though he were constantly on the verge of collapse. He made it back to his room on his own steam, however, and went into the private bath adjoining it. As he began running hot water for a bath, Harry appeared at the door.

"Do you need any help?"

"No thank you," Peter declined, kneeling next to the tub and inhaling a cloud of scented steam as he poured a bubble bath mixture into the water. "I think I need to be alone for a bit."

Harry nodded and then crouched down beside him, touching his shoulder. "I didn't mean to hurt you Peter. It was just..."

"No need to apologize Harry. I know what the suit is like; I did worse to you and don't fault you for what you did. I really don't want to talk about it though."

Nodding again, Harry stood and left without another word. Once he was in his own room, he sighed in aggravation. He wanted to talk about it, wanted to scream his frustration and vent his anger, wanted to comfort Peter if that was what he needed. Instead all Peter seemed to want was silence. Though he wanted to respect Peter's wishes, he felt suffocated by them, as if they were simply avoiding the issue and making it worse. Bringing this up to Peter without reminding him of the evening's traumas, however, would be impossible.

Unlike Peter, he settled for a show, scrubbing the dirt and blood off until his skin was raw and the scabs that had formed were torn off. Blood and dirt and sweat all went down the drain and he watched it vanish with a satisfied look, as if he were washing away the memories and the happenings of the night itself. He applied soap and shampoo again and again, then simply stood and let the water pound him. The shower was a particularly expensive one with jets in numerous places and he turned them on, feeling the water knead his sore skin.

Dripping but somewhat relaxed, he came out and pulled on a t-shirt and boxers before falling onto the bed, not even bothering with covers. His body still had a ways to go to repair itself and energy spent moving about could be put to better use fixing the unseen mess that the symbiote had made of his organs. Though he had protested his health to Peter, it was all the formula could do to keep him upright and functioning. While he slept he was dead to the world; but he could still be heard, faintly breathing. It was something of a miracle once again that he slept the sleep of rest and not the sleep of death.

In his own room, Peter lowered himself into the tub, glad that the sight of his body was obscured by bubbles and foam. Even so, it wasn't long before he noticed that the water had turned a muddy shade of pink, colored by the dust and blood sloughing off his body. Scents of lavender and rose tickled his nostrils and, sighing, he lowered himself even further into the massive marble tub. The lights in the bathroom were on a dimmer switch and he'd set them low, creating a sense of twilight, a place not quite in darkness or in light. Though the hot water hurt a bit at first when it touched his tender flesh, he acclimated to it and it began relaxing the tension out of his muscles. Closing his eyes and shutting out all thought, Peter gradually drifted off to sleep himself.

Knowing he needed to stay far away from water and sensing that he couldn't help much regardless, Flint waited anxiously in the living room. Hours passed but neither boy emerged and he wondered if he should go and check on them. Their obvious desire to be alone, however, made him reluctant. The monotony of waiting was finally broken when Matthew returned from his own patrol, dressed in his red outfit.

"Hey," Flint greeted him sullenly.

"Flint! Did you find them?"

"Yeah. They're getting cleaned up and resting."

"Did they say what happened?"

"Not really. There was a fight but we already kinda knew that." Flint shrugged. "I dunno. Feels like somethin's not right but they don't wanna talk."

"I see." Matthew paused and looked in the direction of the rooms on the upper floor. "How long have you been back?"

"Not sure. Four hours, five maybe."

"And they haven't come out in all that time?"

"No."

Matthew frowned; it wasn't unusual for them to be tired and want to rest after what had to be a harrowing experience. Matthew knew that from his own ordeals. Yet Flint was obviously concerned about something and he wondered what might have happened that they would refuse to tell Flint about. A few options came to mind and none of them were particularly good. Any confirmation of these possibilities, however, would have to wait for the two of them to wake up so they could tell him whatever they were willing to about the night; and possibly more than they meant to if he could read their reactions.

Settling himself down for a wait, Matthew changed out of his costume in a bathroom down the hall and accepted some refreshment when Bernard came in, offering. It gradually became later and later until he finally decided that he should at least check on them if they were sleeping, to make sure they were alright.

Going to Harry's room first, he knocked. "Harry?" A moment passed without a response so he opened the door a crack and poked his head in. "Harry, are you there?"

"Unh..." A groan came from the bed. "Sorry. Sleeping. Matt?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Hey. How are you?"

"I'm glad you're alive," he smiled. "Where's Peter?"

"He was in his room," Harry said as he swung his legs around the bed and onto the floor. Standing, he pulled a dresser open and pulled out a pair of pants and tugged them on. "Were you looking for us too?"

"Yes. I came around not long after Flint got back. He told me about you two getting captured - are you both alright?"

"Well as we can be, I suppose," Harry replied with a shrug as he buttoned up a shirt. His heart was pounding, however, and Matthew could tell his voice was strained. It seemed that Flint was right; more was wrong than they were letting on.

"Do you want me to go and check on Peter?"

"I'll come," Harry offered and went over to the room with Matthew. When they got there, it was deserted so Harry went into the bathroom. It was rather dark and Peter was still sitting in the bath, lightly snoring. Dipping a finger into the water, Harry found it to be completely cold and realized that Peter must have been sleeping the entire time. The bubbles had all popped and all that was left was murky water with a thin layer of grim and soap scum on top, making a ring around the tub. Looking down, Harry frowned, trying to decide whether it would be better to move him and let him sleep or wake him up.

Turning around, he told Matt in a hushed voice that Peter was sleeping and wondered if he should move him or wake him.

"Wake him gently," Matthew advised. "Trying to dry him off so he would be comfortable would only wake him up anyway, in an awkward fashion."

Harry nodded his assent and went back in, kneeling next to the tub and shaking Peter gently by the shoulder. "Peter? The water's gone cold. You need to wake up."

Peters eyes cracked open and when he saw Harry he sat up with a sudden splash. "Harry!"

"Hey, sleepy-head," Harry smiled fondly.

"Harry, I'm in the tub!"

"I know; I didn't think you should sleep in there all night. The water's gone cold by now and I'm sure your skin is wrinkly from staying in too long."

"Harry, I'm _naked_," he flushed and drew his knees up to his chest.

For a moment, Harry was confused; it was nothing he hadn't seen before or didn't plan - or at least hope - to see in the future. Then recalling what Peter had been through, he nodded. "I'll give you your privacy," he said, beating a hasty retreat. "We'll be out in the living room when you're done."

Once Harry was out, Peter sighed and drained the tub, turning on the shower so he could rinse off. He washed his hair then turned the water off and reached for one of the plush towels hanging on the nearby rack. He dried himself off as quickly as possible then pulled on an old shirt and pair of jeans that were worn but comfortable. Running his fingers through his hair in lieu of a comb, he gave himself a quick glance in the mirror, trying not to notice the dark circles under his eyes, then went to join Harry and Matthew.

He found them waiting, Harry on the couch and Matt in a chair; he took a seat next to Harry, hoping the discussion he was sure Matt would want to delve into wouldn't be long.

"What happened?" He asked, curious as Flint had been.

Harry tried to keep calm, remembering how skilled Matt was at reading non-verbal signals. "Gwen carried us off but I stirred part of the way through the flight and got free. When we got back to her place, I took her by surprise then freed Peter. We fought her and dragged her off to the tower and removed the symbiote, but it escaped before we could trap it or contain it."

"I see."

It was a lie that Matthew recognized and Harry knew that he was aware of it. Yet neither made a move to say so and Peter didn't bother to contradict the story. Instead, he fidgeted and keep looking away or down at the floor.

"Can we go now?" He asked, his voice thin and agitated. He stood without waiting for a reply. "Harry? Movie?"

"Be there in a second," he called over his shoulder, then faced Matthew. "That's what happened," he insisted in a quiet, urgent tone.

"Harry... Harry this is a mistake. What really happened?" Harry stayed silent. "It was Peter, wasn't it? Harry, you two shouldn't do this..."

"I know that. I know it's a mistake." He stood himself. "But we already agreed. What I told you is, as far as we're concerned, what happened." He turned and started to walk away. "I have to go; I don't want to keep Peter waiting."

Sighing, Matthew watched him leave; it worried him but there wasn't much he could do apart from wait for the right time. He had a hearing in the morning anyway, so he went home trying to focus on that instead. He left them there, trying to console each other while pretending that nothing had happened that required anything but bodily healing.

_OOO_

A/N: And the aftermath. I'm still not sure whether this fic merits a T or an M so if you have thoughts, let me know. More next chapter about other consequences as well as more P/H moments. Also - I'm looking for another Spidey-project to try so if anybody has any requests or suggestions for what I might do, I'd love to hear them. This will still be a primary focus but I'd like to stretch my writing skills a bit with a one-shot or two. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed.


	26. Needs and Wants

_OOO_

When Harry entered the room, he found Peter sitting in the darkness staring at the blank TV screen. He turned his head towards the sound of Harry entering the room and smiled.

"Thought you weren't coming for a moment there."

"I had a couple things to discuss with Matt. No worries, though. I'll always be there for you." He sat down on the couch next to Peter and put his arm around him. "Even if it takes me a little time to show - in the end I'll always be there."

Peter didn't reply, scooting closer to Harry until he was almost in his lap instead. Harry tightened his one-armed embrace and leaned over.

"What do you want to watch?"

"Anything I guess," Peter said, looking down at his hands.

"Comedy? Action? Drama?"

"No drama. Something lighter. Mindless. To keep me from thinking too much about things."

"Sure, sure." Retracting his arm, Harry went over to the entertainment center and opened the doors of the cabinet that held his massive library of DVDs. Skimming through the titles, he settled on a few comedies, including _Blazing Saddles_, _Not Another Teen Movie_ and _Airplane_. Peter made only half-hearted attempts to eat the popcorn Harry made for them and ended up sliding onto Harry's chest and falling asleep during _Shaun of the Dead_. Looking down at the uneasy expression Peter wore even when asleep, Harry sighed and carried Peter off to his own bedroom.

Going back to his own room, he noticed the message light on his cell phone blinking. Giving a frustrated groan, he listened to all seven of the messages listed there, each more meaningless to him than the last. His father's job seemed to require endless attendance of pointless meetings and prompted persistent calls from people needing various forms of approval, demanding advice and attempting to persuade him into one decision or another regarding a thousand irrelevant details. Aggravated, he took indignant pleasure in deleting each of the messages; he had more important things to worry about.

In fact, he probably always would, he realized. A job like Matthew's, where he was helping out people he was personally invested in while he worked, was one thing. This job, however, sometimes felt like nothing more than a distraction from what he ought to be doing. He knew he needed to keep it, if only for the sake of unquestioned access to the research and development. But now more than ever, since Peter was with him, it was deeply irritating. How was he supposed to be a stuffed suit and a superhero at the same time?

"I'll bet Stark never has to deal with this kind of crap and balance running about the city, saving people to boot," he grumbled, throwing his shirt onto the floor as he changed into nightclothes, though by now the sun was rising. The past few days had been too long; he needed sleep and didn't give a damn if his subordinates wondered where he was. When he finally did wake up, a more pressing issue than business presented itself.

Picking up the selection of daily papers that he subscribed to from the breakfast table where Bernard had left them, his heart plummeted when he noticed the headlines: Daughter of Police Captain Stacey Kidnapped. Scanning the article, it seemed that her father had wondered why she hadn't come to a family dinner they'd scheduled and checked on her, finding the apartment bloody and in disarray. The majority of her clothing was missing and there were signs of a struggle, though several valuables had been left behind, precluding robbery. There were also indications, Harry read with bitter irony, that there had been a rape.

The police would not say whether they had any solid leads or suspects but did issue a description of Miss Stacey. Nobody claimed to have seen anything, a fact which made Harry exhale in relief, but they were apparently running tests on the evidence to see if they could connect it to anybody.

"Fantastic," he grumbled. "Now this."

"Now what, Harry?" Peter had woken up as well and made his way to the kitchen, hungry for breakfast or, more appropriate to the time, lunch. "What's happened?"

"Read for yourself," Harry tossed him the paper which Peter looked over.

"I see."

"Well it wasn't us; she was the one who hurt you, not the other way around. Do you think she ran away for some reason?"

Peter shrugged noncommittally and went into the fridge to pull out a can of pop. It opened with a fizz and he took a swig. "Dunno. Hard to say."

"It doesn't seem like it from the description. There aren't any photos of the crime scene but the descriptions of the damage incurred seem worse than the place was when we left it. I can't think who would have done it... unless of course she tore the place up herself in frustration. That could be it; maybe she was ashamed once the symbiote left her and she's attempting some sort of cover for what happened. Or perhaps the symbiote came back and she didn't want to accept it again; perhaps it struggled with her as well."

Shrugging again, Peter rummaged through the cabinets for a snack. Harry continued to stare at the paper, frowning.

"I just hope they don't find anything that can connect us to the crime. If they come looking... well, I don't know what kind of an explanation we could provide." He tossed the paper aside in frustration as Peter sat down at the table with a can of Pringles, sneaking nervous glances at Harry as he paced about the kitchen. "That... that bitch!" He slammed his hands on the counter. "I don't know what she's playing at!"

"Harry..."

"Pete, I'm sorry," He came over and kissed his cheek. "This must be upsetting you. I'll stop." He gathered up the papers and tossed them into a recycling bin he kept in the adjoining pantry. "Do you need a ride to Empire State? Or have you missed all your classes for today?"

"I have. But I need to get to work by four. I'll go to class tomorrow - it shouldn't be that hard to catch up. But I'm sure Jameson wants to wring my neck by now. And who knows? Maybe I'll get to see the crime scene at some point if they open it up or if one of the other photographers took pictures earlier."

"That works. Do you want a ride or would you like to take a car yourself?"

"Do you have anything not pretentious?" Peter asked, giving him a weak smile.

Harry returned it, glad to see not all humor was gone from him. "We might have a Ford or a Saturn if I look hard. Sure you don't want the Benz?"

"No, that's quite alright. And Harry..."

"Yeah?" He pulled out a phone book and began flipping through it. "I'm getting pizza. You want anything? You like pepperoni and onions, right?"

"I'm good. Cheese is fine, or whatever toppings you want. It's just that..." He neared Harry and placed his hand over Harry's to draw his attention. "Don't go blaming Gwen for everything."

"Peter... how could I not?"

"At least forgive her, then. She was no worse than I was when I did... did that to your face," he gestured. "And in many ways perhaps less guilty. She was unprepared. Didn't know what it was. I did and make the choice to keep it, to wear it. By the time it got to her... who knows how much she knew, how deep it's hold in her was? Besides, I know we don't have much information, but I think there's more to her being missing than meets the eye."

"What do you mean?"

"It's just a hunch. Nothing I can prove. But somehow, I think something terrible has happened to her. I should be sorry if it did, too. You didn't know her but I assure you, she was kind, intelligent, caring... a good person. Really and truly. And if she had a dark side, well, don't we all?"

For a moment Harry looked at Peter, incredulous. Then he turned to Peter, took his head in his hands, and kissed him slowly, his thumbs pressing into the soft flesh of Peter's cheeks and his slightly dry lips running over Peter's raw ones, tasting a trace of blood left from Peter's encounter and subsequent nervous gnawing of them. "You're a better man than I am Peter," he stated softly when they drew apart. "Don't ever leave. You saw it, last night - my dark side. Not fully, but enough to serve as a reminder of what I was before. I keep struggling not to be that person, but you're the one who keeps me on track. I need you like that."

"Harry..." Peter pressed his face into Harry's chest and for a moment Harry thought he was going to start crying. Instead, he pulled away and make for the door. "I need to get dressed. Go ahead and order and I'll be down before you know it."

He vanished from sight, leaving Harry with nothing to do but make the call. After he phoned in their order, Peter still hadn't come out so he went into the study to pace. As he did and thought stuck him; for the next twenty minutes, until the pizza came, he bustled about the place pulling out a canvas and setting it up, organizing all of the various tools he needed for oil painting. By the time their lunch came he'd only gotten a rough sketch penciled in, but his minds eye could already see exactly what the painting would look like.

Already the foundation ad been laid for the image of a lithe body swooping through a spangled night sky, contorted yet muscular, graceful and strong. Everything Harry rejoiced to have and feared to lose he decided to paint, his own expression of affection for and attempt at preservation of a hero nobody knew quite like him.

_OOO_

"Here, this is for you. From the guy at the end of the bar."

Mary Jane lifted her head and looked at the bartender who was holding a tropical drink in his hand. Surprised, she still took it and glanced down the bar to a grinning blond who gave her a wink. Picking up his own drink, he sauntered over and took the seat next to her.

"So tell me," he smiled, "Does that fire surrounding your face mean there's a fire down below too?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Didn't your mother ever tell you not to play with fire?" She teased.

"Well maybe I like getting burned," he smirked and point a finger at his scotch which immediately burst into flames. He then downed the fiery concoction, his face exploding into flames for a moment before reappearing as flesh. Mary Jane gave a startled scream, catching her breath once he returned to normal.

"They'll throw you out!" She gasped.

"Oh, don't worry. They know me here. The name's Johnny."

"Mary Jane," she replied taking a sip of her own drink.

"I know. Seen your face in the papers, on TV... better in real life, you know. The only thing is, I think you need a better hero, don't you?"

"He's always save me before, hasn't he?" She was not offended and her voice betrayed her amusement.

"But with such little flare... Want to see what a real hero's like?"

For a moment she hesitated; then she remembered - she and Peter were over. Harry was with Peter. John was practically a distant memory. There was nothing to feel guilty about, even if all it ended up being was a night of fun with no repeat. And it had been ages since she'd gone out with anyone simply to have a good time and enjoy herself without pondering grave thoughts about a relationship.

"Promise you're not going to run off at the first sign of trouble?" Her tone was light but guarded.

He snickered. "And leave someone like you all by her lonesome? No way." He pushed a bill towards the bartender to pay for her tab and his. "That's what responsible heroes are for. I think you know the type."

"I've had some experience with heroes like that."

"So... dinner?"

"Right now?"

"Whenever you like," he grinned, revealing teeth so white they gleamed even in the semi-darkness of the bar.

Grabbing her purse, Mary Jane slid off the chair and gestured with a sweep of her hand. "Lead the way."

_OOO_

Now that the girl had been taken, cleaned up and sedated all that was left was to make sure she remained safe for the duration. He wasn't about to risk her running off and doing something foolish. It would take time, but he would see the plan through to fruition and he could hardly wait to see the looks on their faces. Patience was needed, however; it was happening at an accelerated rate, due to any number of factors he supposed, but it would still be awhile before he could strike the final blow.

In the meantime, he supposed he ought to begin working at chipping away at the boy's grip on what was rightfully his. That damned web-ridden nuisance had driven him out and now his little boyfriend thought the place was his own. He would come to see how mistaken he was.

He only hoped that when he finally assumed residence the boy hadn't changed too much around. Knowing him every bit of dignity had gone out of the place the moment Parker had moved in and it would probably take decorators weeks to restore the place to its proper state. What a bother.

Meanwhile, on the bed, Gwen Stacey stirred, her mind in darkness with nightmares of red and black seeping out of every corner.

_OOO_

A/N: And so another chapter comes to a close. More with Matt and Flint to come; and just to reassure, don't be too nervous about Johnny. His part will not be huge, although it will serve a literary purpose. I hope you've all been entertained, would love to hear your thoughts if you have any, and look forward to the completion of the next chapter. :)


	27. Silence and Distance

_OOO_

Harry took each day, one day at a time, and before long he found that over a month had passed since the attack. The time that passed felt like watching a movie, as though he were seeing everything from a distance. Peter moved mechanically throughout the day, attending class and going to work, taking photos and checking up on Aunt May. When he visited the old lady, he talked little and avoided most questions; he hadn't even told her about Harry and was not about to tell her anything related to Gwen. Nor did he respond to Dr. Connors questions about the location of the girl or the professors lamenting over her likely fate with anything more than a disinterested shrug.

Harry, too, simply moved through the day, attending meetings and arranging for improved living conditions for the Markos. He spent a little more time with Penny, but even she noticed his distraction and unease. He was forever looking away as though he were thinking about something, on the verge of doing something, but couldn't. He felt it was rather like a puzzle set before him which he wasn't allowed to touch; he didn't know where to begin, but even if he was he wasn't permitted to do anything about it.

When they patrolled together, that too was uninspired. After the incident, Peter became quick, efficient and silent. There were no quips, no showboating, no enjoying the time spent web-slinging. Out of respect, Harry helped him out but gave him his distance, didn't even try to cheer him up after a couple of initial attempts that fell flat. Any attempts at romance or tentative marks of affection began to be rebuffed. At first Peter would only tremble a bit when kissed or touched. Then he started to pull back each time Harry tried to come close, until finally he began avoiding Harry's contact altogether. Harry's only consolation was his painting. Peter would retreat into his room, mumbling something about studying or getting some work done, and he would sigh and go back to creating a boy he once knew on canvas.

Finding Peter changed and being unable to do anything about it was frustrating; but what made Harry angriest at himself was his fear of growing impatient with or even ceasing to feel affection for this new, silent Peter who was so withdrawn and different from his old self. Whatever he had been was shattered and Harry didn't know how to fix it. Instead, he spent his time making a two-dimensional recreation, reliving their memories as his brush daubed on the color and keeping a wide berth between him and the living, breathing boy who now shut himself up and begged to be left alone.

_OOO_

Being a hero, Mary Jane discovered, did not mean the same thing to different people. Flashbulbs went off to her left and she twisted, Johnny's arm around her waist, so that they could give the cameras a better shot. Today it was some sort of X-Games sporting event, featuring a plethora of young men on a variety of souped-up wheeled contraptions performing stunts she was surprised normal people could pull off. As a Storm and a publicly recognized figure, Johnny was always welcome at such events and normally decided to treat the crowd with a display of his own unique pyrotechnics.

More than even John Jameson had been, Johnny was in the public light. Spider-Man might have been a hero to young ladies in need of rescuing and children in need of a role model, but Johnny was the hero of the 18 to 25 male demographic - and he knew and loved it. With Johnny it was a party every evening and a function every day. And while being his girlfriend, not to mention her attachment to incidents like the Doc Ock and Venom attacks, had given her a wealth of publicity, she had to admit that Johnny had the one quality she had always found so lacking in Peter: being there.

"The city is chock full of weirdos and vigilantes," he told her once when she heard a siren going off and looked to him to see if he would act. "And... look. See? Right there. Guy in red. He's already taking care of it. I don't need to be worried unless I see the 'four.' Besides, what's a guy on fire going to do anyway? Most of the time I'd be making things worse."

Then he'd go back to igniting his drinks or looking at cars or reassuring her about her career - in his own unique way.

"Baby," he grinned, "Trust me when I say you've got talent. You just need to use it right. Know how to sell yourself to the audience. And forget the stage," he encouraged. "Try movies. Or music. I know some great agents I could set you up with, loads better than the one you're with now. And as for that critic - say the word and I'll scorch whatever part of his anatomy you'd like." Then he smack her on the butt and she'd squeal.

Miles away from Peter, there were downsides. His eyes sometimes wandered - though to his credit, he never _actually _cheated - and he sometimes didn't take things seriously and his sensitivity was mixed with flippancy and he didn't seem to quite understand the need to slow down every once in a while. He was immature and reckless, up for anything in more ways than one, rather self-centered and overly confident. It was a tremendous change; but after the gravity of her previous relationships, Mary Jane found even his callowness and stupidity mildly attractive. Whatever downsides there were, she decided they could deal with, so long as the relationship didn't spiral downward into stirring her self-doubt at ever instance like Peter's had.

_OOO_

"How are things going?" Matthew asked Harry in a guarded fashion after the boy came by his office with a few documents.

"Not well," he admitted. "I'd rather not talk about it."

"And you think that will help?"

"I know it won't, like I said before. But... well, there's nothing I can do, is there?" His shoulders rose and fell as he turned to leave.

"You could get counseling."

"From whom? Besides, even if we did - it would be a betrayal of trust." He fidgeted with the handle on his briefcase, choosing to look at the heavy, carved doors of the office instead of the man behind him.

Matthew leaned back in his leather chair, tapping a pen on his desk a few times, wondering whether or not Harry would listen. Regardless of whether he did or not, though, Matthew decided the boy ought to hear what he had to say.

"Don't take this the wrong way Harry," he said in a muted tone, "But if you really loved him, you would get him the help he needs even at a personal expense to you."

"Well maybe I don't love him then!" Harry snapped as he turned around and glared. "Maybe it was all just hormones and confusion and neediness. Maybe I never really loved him to begin with."

The pen stopped and Matthew set it down, leaning forward and folding his hands. "Why do you say that?"

"Because... because he's different!"

"That's only to be expected."

"Well I don't like the difference! I didn't want him to change, I wanted... I want the old Peter!"

"People do change. And how do you think any semblance of the old Peter will return if you allow things to continue as they are?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's just... what if there's nothing left? I mean, what do I do then?" His eyes fell on the plush oriental rug beneath his feet. "Maybe this is for the best. He never wants to talk, he's gotten weird about being touched..."

"Harry Osborn," Matthew spoke in a cold, commanding tone. "Harry you need to cease this selfishness. Even apart from any romantic entanglement, even as a friend - you're going to wash your hands of Peter because he came back from an emotional trauma changed in a way that you don't like and think you can't deal with? He's hurt and all you intend to do is avoid him until the problem goes away or you can pretend that it's gone? You can't sweep your problems under a carpet Harry. And if you're any kind of a friend, to say nothing of a lover, you need to step out of your self-absorbed attitude.

"Yes, people change; yes, it hurts to see them change. And yes, for many it's tempting to abandon them because of the emotional hurt that seeing them in such a state causes in us. But as a lawyer, I can assure you that I've seen the effects of it and they're tremendously ugly. Soldiers coming back from wars who have nobody to sympathize and end up slipping into depression, the elderly whose relations grow impatient and tired of caring for them getting abused, children who end up at child services because they are born with or develop a disability that the parents don't want to deal with - it's all the same thing. Rather than reaching out and helping people shut themselves away and pretend a problem isn't happening or didn't happen, pretend that nothing's wrong or even talk themselves into thinking that the person suffering would rather be left alone.

"Let me tell you right now Harry, that's an excuse. I'm not saying things will be easy, nor am I promising that your efforts might not hurt you. But if you felt anything true and sincere for Peter - now is the time to step up and demonstrate how mature your devotion really is."

Harry backed away; his eyes were misting and he suddenly wanted to run, fly, drive, just keep moving until everything was behind him. He was disgusted with himself, afraid and confused.

"I... I don't know what to do!" He shouted then turned and rushed out of the office to where his car was waiting.

Matthew sighed; if Harry couldn't be convinced to approach Peter perhaps it would be best if he contacted Peter himself before the situation deteriorated further.

_OOO_

Penny gave a little clap as her father made a recreation of the Sphinx appear, followed by Big Ben, followed by the Sydney Opera House. He'd grown quite skilled at making sand sculptures and it delighted both her and him when he had the opportunity to show off his unique talents. Getting to spend the day with her father at Harry's was a new arrangement, but Penny found she liked it very much.

As Flint started to shape the Eiffel Tower, Harry walked passed, agitated.

"Flint," he remarked, giving him the barest nod.

"Hey Harry." The boy retreated into a room down the hall, slamming the door behind him and Flint frowned.

"Daddy?" Penny asked. "What's wrong with Uncle Harry?"

"It's... it's hard to explain sweetheart."

"Did something happen with him and Peter? Why are they so upset?"

"Something real bad happened to them," Flint confirmed, lifting her into his lap and brushing her hair back.

"But they're heroes!"

"Bad things can happen to heroes too. In fact, they probably get more than their fair share of bad things happening to them."

"Oh." She wiggled around on his lap, being careful of her tubes, until she was facing him. "Do you think I could do anything to cheer them up?"

"Dunno. Maybe." Inwardly he was doubtful but didn't want to discourage her.

She paused in serious thought. "Uncle Harry - he likes Peter, doesn't he?"

Flint looked vaguely uncomfortable, not sure how much Penny understood. "Yeah, I guess."

"I think I know what, then," she smiled mysteriously but refused to say anymore.

Neither Harry nor Peter made an appearance, though Bernard came by with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for Penny. While she munched her father continued making sculptures until he mother came, and then went back to guarding the silent building.

_OOO_

"Sounds good. Guess we'll see you then. Yeah. Bye." Harry set the phone back on its cradle and sighed, going up to Peter's room. MJ had always been a bit pushy and he wasn't sure it was the best idea; but she'd managed to make him promise and he figured he might as well check to see what Peter thought before trying to get out of the commitment. "Peter?" He knocked softly.

"Yeah?"

"Peter, it's Harry."

For a long moment, there was silence and Harry wondered if he was being ignored. Then Peter spoke up again. "Come in." Harry opened the door and found Peter working at what seemed to be a set of lengthy complex problems at his desk. Everything else in the room was painfully neat; if it hadn't been for the papers and the presence of Peter himself, Harry wouldn't have suspected the room to have an actual occupant. "What is it?"

"MJ just called. Says she's been going out with this new guy for about a month and a half now and wants us to meet him." He leaned against the door jamb, his hand still on the knob, twisting it. "Wants us to go out with them tonight. Double-date sort of thing. Wondered if you were up to it." He tried to read Peter's face for a reaction. "If you're not, though, it's no problem. I can tell her you're busy, to forget it."

To his surprise, Peter rose and put the books away. "It's no problem. It'd be good to see MJ again. How nice should I be dressing up?"

"Sports jacket, khakis, that sort of thing," Harry replied, his mouth feeling dry. "Nothing too flashy." He backed out of the door. "I'll let you get ready - come down whenever you're done and I can drive us over."

Harry went to get cleaned up himself, nervous and edgy about the prospect of spending an evening with MJ and whoever she was going with. He hadn't been out with Peter in public, ever, and while it could be taken by other observers as a group of friends going out for dinner, MJ would know him and Peter for what they really were. He wasn't sure how Peter would react or behave during the evening and some part of him feared what she might read into his silence or how the boyfriend was going to take in the whole situation.

Inwardly he felt like they were headed for disaster; but there was no need to voice such concerns to Peter. He was troubled enough already, even if he did agree to it. Harry only hoped that whatever happened, it wouldn't make things worse.

_OOO_

A/N: Sorry again for the delay. Again, a tough chapter for me to write and possibly a confusing one as it's mostly from Harry's perspective. Next chapter will deal much more with Peter's perspective and will hopefully offer some insight into his reactions. Until then, I hope you enjoyed and I welcome all feedback.


	28. An Indecent Proposal

_OOO_

Harry stared stonily at the couple sitting across the table while Peter sat up against the wall, as far to the edge of their booth as possible. MJ was looking strained as if she was hoping that all would go well but doubted that it would. Johnny, however, was grinning as though he'd won the lottery, swigging wine like it might disappear if he didn't drink it and going through an entire basket of bread by himself.

The waiter came and took their orders and they tried to find a topic of conversation; however, everything attempted seemed to fall flat and degenerate into pointless small talk. Peter and Harry weren't about to tell her anything that had happened recently, especially with a stranger in their presence and MJ found that talking about what she and Johnny did in their free time paled in comparison to what she was sure Peter and Harry did. Once again she found herself in the compromising and awkward position of feeling herself to be a terrible, selfish person. Meanwhile, Johnny went on about who they'd seen at which parties and what antics he'd gotten up to there without a care.

"Tell you what," MJ stood midway though the meal, "I need to freshen up. Why don't you boys get to know each other?"

"Sure thing," Johnny grinned, standing and giving her a kiss before she left that was long and tongue-filled enough that Harry looked away and wished they weren't in a restaurant. "So," he said as he sat back down after Mary Jane wandered off. "You two are… yeah? That's what MJ said."

"Yes," Harry replied icily. "We are." Johnny's reputation – at least part of it – preceded him and Harry was furious that MJ had divulged personal information about them to someone so… so utterly base and annoying. Privately he was irate she was even dating him; she moved on from him and Peter to this?

Johnny nodded, as if he didn't noticed that Harry's eyes were shooting venomous daggers at him.

"And you both dated MJ at one point, right?" He asked as he chewed.

"Yes." He replied curtly.

Another nod and another bite. A minute later, Johnny opened his mouth again, leering suggestively.

"You know, I got an open mind. You both dated her, right? So you must kinda like her? Even now? And you're dating each other so obviously you can switch up. Not saying you gotta but if you'd ever like to, you know… take this date thing a bit later into the evening if you know what I mean? Get a group session going? Collaborate?"

Off to Harry's side Peter nearly choked on the wine he was sipping and a furious blush rose in Harry's face.

"Alright, you know what? That's it." He took out his wallet and left more than was necessary in his rush to leave. "If MJ asks I took ill; because it's true."

"Whoa, buddy…" He made a motion to stand and detain them.

"I am not your buddy," Harry snapped. "Say anything else and I won't care if you can catch yourself on fire; I'll snap your arm anyway." He looked to Peter who was still sitting, bunching up the napkin in his lap. "Let's go Pete."

He stood and followed Harry to the door, working to keep up as Harry was storming off at a quick pace. The young CEO halted, however, when he ran into MJ on her way back from the restroom.

"Hey," she trotted over to them. "What's wrong? You're leaving without saying goodbye?"

"Yeah," Harry replied. "We've got places to be. And to be honest – I don't think much of your boyfriend."

"What's wrong with Johnny?" She was suddenly riled. "Just because he doesn't spend all his time chasing after others and more time with me?"

"No, because he's an immature man-whore," Harry leaned over and whispered in her ear. "And if you don't watch yourself, hanging out with a guy like that after all the rescuing incidents…"

"What are you suggestive?" She demanded sharply.

"I'm only saying that… well, it looks like you're becoming a bit of a groupie. Going around grabbing heroes for your collection." He was pushing, but his dislike of Johnny was spreading to her; he still couldn't believe she would date somebody like him.

"At least I have fun with Johnny, can relax and enjoy myself once in a while. More than I could say when I was going out with the two of you, always wondering when I was going to be taking the backseat to your jobs." She pushed past Harry, starting back for the table. "Just leave. I won't stop you," she told him, nothing even bothering to look back.

Peter remained silent through the whole exchange and docilely followed Harry out into the car. They both got into the back seat and Harry gave the driver the direction to take them home before sliding the plate between the seats closed to ensure their privacy.

"You see what I mean?" Peter sighed, staring out the window.

"What?" Harry glanced at him confused. "What are you talking about Pete?"

"That!" Peter shouted, facing Harry, his face unexpectedly red and his eyes glassy. "That in there! It's always like that, isn't it?" He ran a shaking hand through his hair. "It's always so… so base! It's nothing to anybody…"

"Peter… if you're talking about…" He hesitated at the word before breathing deeply and plowing forward. "If you're talking about _sex_, then no – Johnny's an immature idiot who thinks with his dick because he doesn't have a brain. Not all people are like that." The car slowed to a halt in the evening traffic and Harry unbuckled and slid closer to Peter.

"But… it doesn't mean anything! It all the same, isn't it? It feels the same no matter what!" Concerned, Harry pulled his handkerchief out of his breast pocket and handed it over to Peter who promptly began soaking it. "I mean… It's… I…" He gasped. "I waited! I waited with MJ because I wanted it to be special and unique. I mean, I never had a girlfriend before her, not really, and I thought it was going to be… I mean… It meant a lot to me.

"And then… and then Gwen and I just…" He was sobbing by now and all Harry managed to do was to stare dumbly and watch the tears and words spill out. "I'm sorry Harry!" Peter blurted.

"Sorry?" Harry's confusion grew. "About what?" Tentatively, he reached out and put his hand on Peter's shoulder. "I didn't expect you to… I mean, I can understand why you would want to wait but it's not like I'm upset that I wasn't the one who… you know…" He wanted to be careful about what he said for fear that it would only upset Peter more.

"But I did… to you… I cheated!"

"What?" His voice was quiet and stunned.

"When she was doing everything… I… it… I reacted!" He sobbed. "I didn't want to but I couldn't help it! And everything she did… it was the same as if anybody had been doing it. As if _you_ had been doing it… I couldn't control myself, I just got… I mean… I didn't want to but it wouldn't go down… And then after, everything felt just the same. There was no difference, it didn't matter who was doing it, it's not special or anything, it's just bodies that behave the same way no matter who you're with and even that… that Storm… it's like that. It doesn't matter…"

Taking another deep breath, Harry tried to get a handle on the disoriented speech. "So… let me get this straight…" he began. "You're upset because you got aroused when Gwen attacked you and you take it as a mark of disloyalty to me?" He sighed. "Peter… you know that I would never accuse you of that – there's not a single way in which I consider it to be your fault. She was the one who hurt you – what you did was involuntary. It's nothing that could be helped. You aren't to blame."

By then Peter's crying was slowing down, although he was still sniffing. "I just always wanted it to be _special_. Always thought it was something I could handle, something that would _mean_ something. I'm not an idiot; I wasn't expecting it to be roses and fireworks and stuff. But I thought it would mean more, that it would be different when I was with somebody I loved.

"Now everything reminds me of what she did and that my body doesn't care that I didn't want to or that it wasn't with somebody I cared about that way. Ever since it feels… base. Doesn't matter. Just a bunch of biological, physical processes - blood rushing and chemicals getting released and synapses firing. A meaningless experience people have for fun, just to do, for whatever reason – nothing behind it. And even when it's gentle… it's like she's lurking behind it reminding me that she could produce those reactions too; that there's nothing I can do to stop it, that I gave in... that it hurt and I hated it but still… still… _climaxed_."

Sliding back on the leather seats Harry looked out the window and sighed.

"Pete… I think we should talk to Matt. We don't have to if you aren't OK with it. But this has been going on for weeks now. I know you wish it hadn't happened; I wish that too. But it did. And… and we've got to face that." He looked over at Peter who was staring out his own window. "I know I'm selfish Pete – but I can't take this anymore. We go through the day like we're strangers, like we're afraid to be too near or do anything or say anything that will stir up memories.

"I know it's hard to talk about, to think about, but nothing will change if we don't do something." He tried to make his tone as pleading and persuasive as possible. "Maybe try it for a bit and see if it helps. OK? For a bit?"

Peter hesitated, and then turned to look at Harry with dark rimmed eyes. "I guess."

"First thing in the morning, then. OK?"

"Yeah," he sighed and went back to looking out of the window, watching the lights run by.

Harry bit his lip and tried to relax. Matthew would know what to do; he had to. There had to be somebody who could fix it, who could persuade Peter that it wasn't his fault and that what Gwen did was entirely different from what he wanted to do with Peter. At the very least, perhaps talking about it would relieve some of their emotional exhaustion, assuage the pain from the effort it took to keep things suppressed and bottled up.

The next morning when they awoke, they went straight to Matthews, not even paused to get the awkward apology Mary Jane had left on Harry's voicemail. Neither of them read the paper and so they didn't see the story printed in the column, a follow-up to the case that first broke about a month back. So the newspaper calmly waited on the table for them to return, a bomb ready to explode and shatter what little serenity they'd managed to salvage after the attack.

It seemed, the article reported, that the body of Miss Stacey had been discovered, badly beaten, on the bank of the East River by a couple of early morning joggers. She was still in intensive care and hadn't regained consciousness for more than a brief period before lapsing again. When she was coherent there wasn't much she could remember from the time she'd been gone that she could tell doctors and they were still worried that they might lose her altogether due to infection or complications from her heavily sustained injuries.

Her body was damaged in such a way that it was clear she'd been hurt, perhaps even tortured, over a significant period of time and had gone without medical attention. More curious, however, was that when they performed the initial examination, the doctors found indications that she had recently given birth – perhaps as little as a day or two before her body had been found. Her father assured them that it was impossible, that she had not been pregnant when he'd last seen her, a couple of months ago.

Yet still the evidence was there and it puzzled and troubled him – particularly since no other bodies, fetal or newborn, had been found.

When the afternoon came and the paper still lay untouched, Bernard took it and disposed of it into the recycling bin, assuming that it had either been read or was of no particular interest.

_OOO_

"It was worth the early inducing to get her out of here, wouldn't you agree?" The brunette kept a close watch on the innumerable equipment monitors that told him all about the conditions in the tanks that were incubating the fruit of his – and her – labor.

"Just see that the project does not fail," the bald man beside him admonished in a deep tone. "I did not bring you into my ranks for nothing; I expect to see results."

"Of course, of course. But such matters do take time."

"I can be patient; but I do not brook disappointment easily."

"You will not have to," the other reassured, impatient. "I want this as much as you do – perhaps even more. Yours is just a nuisance. Mine is personal."

"Don't presume to know what his defeat would mean to me. Irregardless – I have other matters that need attending to. See that you keep this well in hand."

The bulky figure lumbered off, leaving the other man clutching his fists. A monitor beeped and he went to adjust it; when the difficulty had been taken care of, he looked at the tank and leered. His dark business suit quivered just slightly; soon it would be time, soon it would be able to act out, and then that domineering fool he'd needed for his purposes would be no more. More than that, the time was approaching when he would be able to strike, each step bringing him closer.

Revenge would be sweet indeed.

_OOO_

A/N: First, a note on the last chapter – I changed the time frame to months instead of weeks; on reflection I felt that this would be more realistic for the problems to develop and get progressively worse. As for Gwen… I haven't quite decided what to do with her yet so the possibility of her living or dying is still up in the air. And as for Peter – I tried to represent his emotional state as best I could but my writing is still very open to critique; feel free to say what needs some adjustment and I'll see what I can do in this and future chapters. Hope you enjoyed and I'll see you all after I've read the last Harry Potter. :)


	29. Good Counsel

_OOO_

When Harry first met the man that Matthew had brought in for Peter's psychological counseling, his immediately reacted apprehensively. In the interest of being up front with them, after he introduced himself as Professor Xavier, he informed them that he was a telepath and that he taught at a school for mutants a short distance outside of the city.

"Telepath?" Harry snapped. "So what's the point of even telling you anything? And how do we know you're not just reading our minds?" He regarded him warily.

"That would be a matter of trust – trusting me and trusting Matthew," the wheelchair bound man replied calmly.

There was a brief moment of hesitation; then, glancing at Peter to check, Harry nodded his consent.

"For Peter," he replied. After all, they didn't have many other options. A thorough discussion of the difficulties required full disclosure of the circumstances of the trauma. And superheroes with degrees in psychology that lived in the New York area weren't exactly a commonality.

Despite his nervousness, Xavier was calm and patient, meeting them in Matthew's house or Harry's place as they wished. Initially he talked with Peter alone; yet after a short time, Harry found it helpful to talk to him as well. They each went over their frustrations and anxieties, Peter's shame and nervousness at having his sexual expectations violated and his subsequent intimate experiences tainted and Harry's rage at his inability to protect Peter or heal him afterwards and his instinctive desires to bolt from the problem rather than deal with the difficulties.

When they began, Peter cried frequently and relied on euphemisms and vague gestures to substitute for experiences he didn't want to completely describe or discuss. His conversation focused on what he wanted rather than what was, lamenting the difference between dreams and reality. In an attempt to make up for what he perceived to be a previous failure, Harry tried to spend more time with him but Peter shied away. It wasn't until a fortnight after they began taking sessions with Xavier that Harry even realized that Peter was having night terrors about the attack.

After finding out, Harry's first reaction was to lash out at Peter, and this feeling was only compounded when a month passed without him making much apparent progress. Harry couldn't understand why Peter simply couldn't accept that it wasn't his fault, that his biological instincts were separate from him emotions and place the blame on Gwen or the symbiote or even Harry rather than himself. He wanted to yell at Peter, punch him and tell him to quit being so weepy and foolish. Then immediately after, he inwardly swore at himself for being so unsympathetic and irritated at what was, to his understanding, a common reaction to being raped.

During his times with Xavier, he went over this frustration, his exasperation at the difference between how he felt and how he thought he ought to be feeling. As the days and weeks passed, he also expressed his impatience at how long it was taking to get results. He wanted things to be better, to be fixed, but therapy was not a quick process; though he realized that fact, it didn't make the time it took any easy to deal with.

"The positive is that you do recognize your own shortcomings," Xavier told him. "And that you're attempting to rectify behaviors that you feel might be hurtful while still expressing your emotions rather than suppressing them."

"I guess," he muttered. "I just… I'm sorry." He sighed. "It's hypocritical to be upset with Peter for failing to do something, to 'get over it' or whatever when I can't even do that myself. I just keep wishing things were the way they used to be… but I know that's what he wants too. I know we need to move forward, deal with things as they are and not keep wishing for and living in the past. It's just… it's just so hard, though!" His eyes stung and he swiped at them with the palm of his hand.

"Take your time, Harry," Xavier replied, floating a box of tissues over to him.

"I thought… I thought when we were getting into this that all we'd have to worry about was going to be injury. That once I was with Peter I could shut my dad out and we'd have each other and that would be all we ever needed. Now it's like there's this… this impasse between us. I want to be there for him but he acts like he doesn't want me to be. And I want him to get close to me but his behavior just makes me so… so _angry_ sometimes!"

"You must give it time, Harold."

"Yeah, yeah, I keep hearing that. But it's – it didn't have to be this way!" He sighed. "This is my fault for pushing us into this, for suggesting we settle the issue. We should have had a better plan, more backup, done it all differently, anything to keep this from happening. The issues we've had to consider sexually were tough enough without this. Now I wonder if we can make it, even. If we're going to fall apart right when we thought things were going to be… going to be so good, so wonderful."

"Feeling regret is normal…"

And on and on and on, or so Harry felt. He wondered at times if they were making any progress at all or if they were simply rehashing the same issues over and over again. When Peter's nightmares became more severe he started doubting whether or not the therapy was even helping, though he kept with it upon Matthew's encouragement that it would help, in time, eventually.

The only encouraging development for Harry was Harry's painting. Xavier had encouraged him in pursuing it since Harry said that it helped to calm him down and gave him a sense of hope that their emotional well being and their relationship could be re-established. Towards the end of the second month, Bernard had let Xavier in a bit early and he entered in on Harry finishing his portrait of Peter in action, a dynamic and striking portrayal.

Xavier complimented him on his work and Harry shrugged.

"It's not as good as the pictures Peter takes," he replied. Internally, however, he felt a bit of pride and satisfaction as he covered up the canvas and set it off to the side.

Peter always assured him he had talent, but it felt good to hear that from an outside source ever now and again.

_OOO_

Looking out of the bay windows, seeing the birds flying by, Peter wondered if there would ever come a time in his life when he would be completely satisfied with even himself, let alone his life. Down the hall he could hear Harry moving, perhaps getting ready for a meeting or preparing to come into the room to pain. He supposed he ought to move out of the way of the window so that Harry's view could be clear at least. That was about all he could do for him anymore.

Although Harry certainly wouldn't say anything to his face, Peter felt deep down that the changes between them were his fault. He tried, he really tried, to trust Harry's touch the way he had before. But every time they got close his body shuddered and his mind shut down and there was nothing else to do except push him away. Again and again and again he pushed him away and he wanted to tell Harry that it wasn't Harry's fault, that it was all his problem, but instead he simply went back into his own room and locked the door.

Ten weeks he had been seeing Xavier and it suddenly occurred to him that he still hadn't told his Aunt May that he'd entered into a relationship with Harry – although he wasn't sure how accurate it would be to call it a relationship anymore. Even the friendship that had been there seemed awkward and stilted; and it was, he knew, his fault, regardless of any protests people made to the contrary.

"Great responsibility," he murmured to the sunset.

"Peter?" Harry's voice came from behind him. "Did you say something?"

He turned and saw Harry, looking as though he wanted to come over to him. Once he would have simply walked up behind Peter and embraced him but now…

"Nothing Harry," Peter shook his head before turning back to the window.

Xavier had broached the idea that he ought to talk to Gwen herself, and Matthew had concurred. Finally out of the hospital and seemingly making a recovery, she had returned to class a week ago. Peter skipped the one lab day they'd had since her return, despite the fact that as the end of the semester neared the labs were becoming increasingly difficult and time consuming. When he did see her in class, he assiduously avoided eye contact and any form of interaction, even slight. Dr. Connors seemed to wonder about the change, but he did not inquire and Peter was grateful for that.

In the end he settled for acknowledging her presence if not bringing up the subject; he wasn't even sure of how much she remembered. Not unlike Harry after his first altercation as the New Goblin, Gwen seemed to have sustained memory loss and was unable to make anything more than vague connections to a past she didn't really want to remember.

Peter only wished he was so lucky.

The worst of the memories came at night, a fact he was able to hide from Harry for a while. When he eventually found out, Peter felt even worse; he shouldn't be bothering Harry with dreams that weren't even real, that weren't even putting him in any type of actual danger. At first he simply locked the door so that Harry wouldn't have to be so worried. As the dreams became more intense, however, he found himself taking sleep aids to put them out of his mind. He suspected that others around him wouldn't approve so he hid that as well.

Eventually, between the sweat-soaked nights he spent worried about what he might dream and the work he threw himself into to avoid any contact, his days became a hazy stretch punctuated only by particularly sharp remembrances of what had happened. He went to sessions with Xavier so that he wouldn't cause more trouble and anxiety – Matthew had, after all, gone to great lengths to do his best to help and Peter felt he owed him some measure of appreciation by attending. All he heard when he went, though, were words, empty and useless.

That the therapy wasn't helping was, he supposed, his fault as well. More and more, everything – his violation, the fact that he couldn't be there for Harry, that he couldn't pull himself back up – seemed to rest fault upon him. If Harry grew annoyed and impatient then it should come as no surprise; he was annoyed and impatient with himself because of all of his crying, his nightmares and his inability to be intimate.

Sighing impatiently, he turned to head back to his room and noticed Harry working, once again, on his painting of Peter swinging through the night.

"It looks really good, Harry," he remarked, smiling ruefully. "I'm sorry I can't be the Peter in the painting for you."

Harry set down the brush he was working with and turned around.

"Is that what you think this is about?"

"Isn't it?" Peter asked softly, in a neutral voice. "I'm not saying you're at fault. I don't blame you. I'm just… I'm sorry, that's all."

"_Peter_. Please." He wiped his hands off on a rag hanging off of the easel. "This isn't about what I want or what makes me happy or whatever else you think it might be. It's about what you want, what makes you happy. This relaxes me, yes, and stirs up fond memories.

"But I don't want you to be anything other than well and whole. You're not here for my pleasure or to amuse me or be some sort of fuck buddy or anything else degrading. You're Peter Parker – a person, with his own needs and wants and dreams. A person who grows and changes.

"I know service comes with the hero territory. But don't worry about what I, or anybody else for that matter, wants. Think about what you want, what makes sense and is right for you. When you're where you want to be, then that's good enough for me."

"You mean that, Harry?" He sounded sincere, but lately Peter felt perpetually unsure.

Reflecting for a moment, he found that he did and nodded in the affirmative. For a moment, he thought Peter was going to move towards him. Instead he gave a quick nod before heading off to his own room as always

Harry hoped he had gotten through to Peter, while Peter closed the door, sat at the edge of the bed. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and wondered who he really was and what he ultimately wanted. To forget? To get angry? To be alone? To go back to pretending nothing happened?

There was a knock at the door and he opened it expecting to see Harry. Instead, Flint stood there with a pink-wrapped box in his hands.

"Penny finished this for you guys," he said, awkwardly thrusting the package into Peter's arms. "Been making it for a while now. Dunno what it is, though. Wouldn't tell me – said it was a surprise."

"To Uncle Harry and Peter," he read the tag. "Ok, I guess I'll find Harry."

He found him putting away his painting materials and they put the box on the desk. Harry tore off the paper and Peter opened up the white cardboard box underneath it. Inside, nestled among wads of tissue paper, were two bears, the type made at Build-a-Bear stores, each with meticulously stitched sweaters. The first was red with a little web in the center and the second green with a pumpkin. Each one had a paw with a pad of Velcro that attached to the back of a stuffed satin heart that connected them.

Looking down into the box, Peter picked up the green one.

_A bit of innocence._ Proof that not everything was as dark and tainted and black as it seemed. That was all. Innocence once lost could never be fully recovered; but just a bit, a small reminder, a moment of comfort… it wasn't everything but it was a start.

He turned the bear in the green sweater towards Harry with a little smile; its face on the right side was even messed up and the fur matted a bit.

"It's a Harry-bear," he said in a voice that held, to Harry's astonishment, amusement. Then Peter leaned over and kissed Harry's right cheek before going back to his room, taking the bear with him.

Harry stood, frozen in place for a moment. Then he grinned and picked up the other bear and the heart, taking them to his own room.

Mentally he reminded himself to send Penny a thank you note.

_OOO_

A/N: Once again, sorry about the wait. I was briefly distracted by Deathly Hallows and the subsequent glut of DH fan fic. My personal reaction to DH… I think I read a fan fic like that once. Seriously. Also, it has a great AS/S (which isn't really a spoiler since I doubt you'll get that unless you've read the epilogue…)

Anyway, back to this fandom. They still have a long way to go, mentally and emotionally, and time will be passing more quickly over the next few chapters. Future chapters will include more characters, some familiar some a bit less, but as I've said before, the comic-savvy among you can probably spot what's coming. I hope you enjoyed but, as always, I'm open to well-thought criticisms and suggestions.


	30. Daughters and Sons

_OOO_

Although they'd hit a turning point, it was still taking Peter a while to recover as much as he ever would. What encouraged Harry was that he was making progress. The sessions were just as tough, but Peter finally began talking again, allowing them to have contact, kissing Harry and showing signs of affection. He was still having night terrors but he admitted to them and allowed Harry to help when they occurred rather than hiding the fact that they happened. When they patrolled, Peter was even back to his old smart-mouthing and even showboated a little alongside Harry. Because the semester was finally over he had a little more time to work and more time to spend with Harry.

Harry, too, found himself with more to occupy his time than his job at OsCorp. A few weeks after Xavier had seen his painting, he received a call from Warren Worthington III, another well-known among the city's young and wealthy. Harry assumed that he wanted to discuss some type of corporate collaboration. When Warren stopped by his office, however, his business took Harry by surprise.

"I was hoping that you could paint me," he told Harry.

For a moment, Harry stared at him in shock. "What? Me? But why me? Surely there are better portrait painters…"

"I've never found one with experience doing – or who was comfortable doing – me with my wings out," he explained, and Harry remembered with a blush that Warren was in fact a mutant. "My father isn't very pleased with me wanting to get a portrait done with my wings; he's not a bad guy about the whole mutant thing, I just think he thinks it looks to casual or something. And why I was griping about it to the Professor, he told me that you did one of Spider-Man that was absolutely amazing. So I thought if you had experience doing heroes you might, you know, take a commission." When Harry was silent for a moment, he started to blush. "Of course, if you don't take commissions of anything, I understand. I was just hoping…"

"I'll do it," Harry interrupted. "Get back to me on dates and times and we'll schedule a sitting."

Warren broke into a grin. "That's great! I can't wait."

He left with a nod, leaving a bemused Harry in his wake.

It was an unexpected turn of events, but not, Harry realized, an unwelcome one.

_OOO_

As the summer continued, the days lengthening and the temperature rising, much in Harry and Peter's life seemed to be looking up. Peter told Aunt May that he was with Harry and she'd smiled at both of them fondly and had them over for cake whenever she could get them. He'd met with Gwen and found that she remembered very little about the attack or her time with Peter, save that she seemed to sense there was something she needed to apologize to Peter for. She seemed wounded enough already, so Peter assured her that no apology was necessary for any tension and tried to move on without reminding her or himself further of the tragedy. The night terrors gradually became less frequent and Harry mellowed and fretted less. The job was going well for Peter, he was scheduled to graduate at the end of the coming year and Harry managed to keep the shareholders at bay. Even their alter-egoes were having a good summer; crime had been limited to run of the mill events with no major superhuman threats showing up for months.

One difficulty, however, was developing on the horizon, casting a shadow over their optimism.

Harry was as good as his word to Flint Marko; Penny was receiving the best medical treatment she could get, all underwritten by him, and she and her mother had moved into a new, much more comfortable house in the suburbs. She was seeing a tutor since her condition made going to school difficult at best.

However, despite all of his good intentions, Harry noted with a growing despair that she was not improving. The last time he had spent a day with her at the beach, she had been weak and lethargic. She smiled for him and Peter, glad that they liked there gifts, but he could tell that she was in severe pain. Despite everything, she remained cheerful, and yet there seemed to lurk a tacit acknowledgement that her life was nearing its end and the fight was soon to be over and lost.

He considered this one evening, sitting on his bed and looking across the room at the Spidey-Bear she'd made for him holding the little heart. She was a good kid who didn't deserve what was happening to her, he thought. But wasn't that the way it always was? It was unjust but it seemed unpreventable. Flint had been right; there was nothing modern medicine could do for her. Except…

Frustrated and on edge, he entertained dangerous thoughts. There was a way, had to be, might be. If Flint consented, if Penny understood, if Peter could help, then somehow it might all turn out alright.

Standing up suddenly, he went to Peter's room.

"Pete?"

"Yeah?"

"You doing anything?"

The door opened. "Nothing that can't wait. Just browsing through my portfolio, thinking about updating it. What's the matter?"

"We need to talk," he said, motioning him out.

"About what?" Peter said, stepping into the hall and shutting the door behind him.

"About Penny," Harry walked briskly down the hall, leading Peter to the kitchen. He made himself a cup of tea, asked Peter if he wanted anything, then sat at the table. For a few moments, they sat in silence, Harry fidgeting with his mug. "She's getting worse, Pete."

"I know."

"I care about her, Pete. A lot." He looked at Peter in anguish.

Peter reached out and rubbed his arm. "I know. So do I. But at least this way she's in comfort, happy…"

"That's not good enough!" Harry cried out. "I want her to have a future. Go to college, get married – _live_."

"Harry, the doctors are doing the best they can. There's nothing else that can be done."

"That's not entirely true," he whispered, looking down into the liquid in the mug.

"Harry?" Peter's voice came to his as though it were from a distance, nervous and uncertain.

"There is something, isn't there." He looked at Peter in the eye. "The same thing that fixed me." Then he went back to the mug, lifting and drinking even though the tea scalded his tongue, hoping that Peter wouldn't be furious at the suggestion.

"The Goblin Formula?" Peter was dumbfounded rather than angry. "Harry, you can't be serious! You saw what it did to you, to your father – would you really want that for Penny? That madness, that pain and suffering?"

"Better that she dies?" Harry snapped, and then looked chastened. "I'm sorry, that's not what I mean. I thought… I mean, technically that stuff is still the experimental formula that Stromm and my father were working on. I was hoping that maybe there was an outside chance that you could fix it."

"Me?" He was taken aback.

"Well, yeah. You're into chemistry and science and all that right?"

"Yes, but it's a lot more than that! Harry, the scientists who worked with your father were experts – I don't even have a BA yet! What makes you think I can do anything to fix it?"

"I don't know! I know, I know – it's stupid and an outside chance and all of that. But you are, and don't protest about modesty or me being biased, a genius Pete. I really think you can do it, it's not just false hope. Or maybe it is but the least you could do is try, take a look!"

Peter sighed. He could take a look, but that was no guarantee and he didn't want to think about what Harry would try to talk the Markos into if he was unsuccessful. The chance that he might be successful, however, was, he had to admit, tempting. "This means working in your father's secret lab, doesn't it?" Harry hesitated, then nodded and Peter sighed. For a moment Harry wondered if he was doing the right thing, if this move would put the precarious peace of mind that he and Peter had gained at risk, if Peter wouldn't be wise to refuse. Peter wondered much the same thing; yet he nodded and with that gesture shouldered the risk. "For Penny," he stated.

"For Penny," Harry agreed.

Leaving the table, he went down to the lab and stood in it, in the center of the crazy steel nightmare that Norman had created, the final legacy of insanity that Harry and Peter entered as little as possible – until then. Pushing all thought out of his mind except for saving Penny, Peter began working on the formula, trying to separate the beneficial physical effects from the devastating mental ones.

_OOO_

His name was Ben and her name was Emily.

Weeks before, Norman Osborn had stood in the center of a lab that was not his own, looking at a report in his hands with an amused expression.

"Heteropaternal superfecundation? Never saw that one coming," he laughed. When he read which was which, he named them accordingly. Fisk told him that he had a vicious sense of humor and he laughed again. "Of course we do."

"We?"

"Sorry. I." He bared his teeth in a grin; Fisk knew and Norman realized he knew, taking the opportunity to flaunt the fact that he wasn't worried that his plans were somewhat transparent.

Fisk glanced at him curiously, paying close attention to the immaculate black suit he was wearing. He would bear watching – _very_ close watching – although he might still have his uses. Despite his arrogance, his conceit and his psychosis, he had kept a strong and profitable control overseas. He was unquestionably brilliant when he wasn't verging on paranoia or insanity.

More than that, the suit would be well worth it if he could be sure of transferring its affections.

It was a dangerous game they both were playing, but that was what made it worth it. And now, it seemed, there were two more players.

She was, from almost the very start, her father's daughter. She cried when he wasn't around, only allowed him to hold her and even with layers of baby fat still exhibited his marked features. Her eyes glinted in a way that suggested she would inherit more from him than mere genetics and it pleased him enormously. Even at that age, she knew it pleased him and she desired to please, tried to stand, to walk, to speak, just to get a smile or nod of encouragement.

He was not, at the outset, his father's son; at least not his father as he'd come to be but instead a reminder of a person he once was. His hair was lighter, a dishwater blond, and his features were undistinguishable and entirely forgettable. He didn't cry or draw attention to himself, didn't exhibit any particular curiosity or initiative of his own. He stayed quiet and went, save for the necessary care he was accorded, almost entirely unnoticed. He didn't seem to display any particular traits that might have indicated an inheritance of particular powers or skills. Instead he was like any other child of a similar biological age and was easily overlooked.

While they grew, other wheels turned.

"If you want me to strike them, you must make the path clear." Norman suggested. "Draw out the lawyer. Distract him. He helps to keep them together, offers support and guidance and whatever other bullshit they're so needy to get."

"And what will you do?" Fisk regarded him carefully.

"If he's looking for other father figures then it's obvious I've not been doing my job," he leered. "I think it's time I made my way back into my son's life. Don't worry – it will come soon enough. They've been playing it low key for a while now, but they can't hide it forever. And once the public finds out, the stock will plummet."

"I'll seize the assets…"

"… and I'll be at the head of it again. Back from all my years in exile, returning matters to the way they should always have been."

The stakes were slowly rising. Yet amidst all of the plotting, one player was still very much undecided. It appreciated the strength that Norman gave it and did not intend to abandon him lightly. However, fidelity to the host was not the only matter that needed to be settled. It needed to pick, to decide which of his former host's offspring should be given the boon of becoming a host for its offspring.

It watched as the days turned to weeks turned to months and they grew at a rate that shouldn't have been possible. They grew and they developed but not equally. As the green leaves of summer began to be threatened by the cool air of autumn, it made its decision.

Her name was Emily; and from the moment of birth, she had been the favorite. As with his own grave, he was fond of laying down traps that would sit in wait for the right moment to be triggered.

She was simply another ticking pumpkin bomb, a backup plan, insurance for the future, an investment that would pay dividends.

_OOO_

A/N: And that's that, another chapter with a few important revelations and developments. For more of Norman's jack-assery, cf. Sins Past. This won't be quite the carbon copy, but for those curious, it was an inspiration (and no, the names aren't random). Also, I have tried in here to make Peter and Harry a little more mature, something that will continue as time passes (which it is doing much more rapidly now). Let me know how I'm doing on that account and, as always, feel free to point out anything that might need alteration. Ch. 29 will probably get a bit of a tweak in the near future, but nothing too unsettling, and I'm always willing to hear suggestions for improvements.

With that, I hope you enjoyed and I'll see you (metaphorically speaking) next chapter.


	31. Making Much of Time

_OOO _

Harry walked through the door and tossed his briefcase onto the sofa, next to bags of books Peter had purchased at the Empire State University bookstore. He found Peter himself making a sandwich in the kitchen.

"Hey," he smiled. "How was your session?"

"Good," Peter nodded. "Charles thinks I'm making progress."

"Has Matt been by?"

"No. He called to say that our practice session next Thursday will have to wait a while too. Says he hasn't been getting a lot of sleep lately; he's involved in something pressing regarding Hell's Kitchen."

"Anything we can help with?" Harry opened up the fridge and took out a can of Pepsi.

"No," Peter sighed between bites. "Says it's an undercover operation. Wants us to steer clear. Speaking of which, anything happen today?"

"Nope. All was quiet. Well, all public violence was, as much as it ever is in New York. No fires, no bank robberies, not even a mugging that I saw. Of course, New York being New York, I'm sure there were some crimes somewhere. Just none that I had any ability to stop. To be honest, the board meeting was worse. They're wondering why we haven't had anybody major on board in two years – as if the debacle with Octavius wasn't enough to make people want to avoid association."

"Well, since you took the morning patrol, I'll take tonight," he said, wiping his hands off on a napkin.

"Actually, I was hoping you could hang around for a bit."

"How long?"

"Only until about seven or so. Warren's coming by for a sitting and I was hoping you could get a few photographs of him."

" Warren?"

"Warren Worthington the Third, calls himself Angel. He was involved in that bridge debacle last year. Not quite as rich as me, but almost. Decided he wants to get a portrait done with his wings but his father isn't comfortable with the idea. Xavier told him about the portrait I was working on of you, thought I'd be comfortable doing a portrait of a mutant. I thought I told you about this already."

"You might have mentioned it; it must have slipped my mind. But why the pictures?"

"References," he downed the last of the Pepsi. "I'm only getting a few sketches onto the canvas. I'm not going to make him sit for ten, twelve hours with his wings out. A few pictures should suffice, I'll cover the film. Besides," he said, setting the can down and draping his arms around Peter from behind. "I thought it would be a good way to involve you in a passion of mine."

"I think I'd like that," Peter rose from his seat and turned to face Harry, sliding his hand upward into his hair, digging his fingers into the chestnut curls and pulling Harry towards him. They kissed, noses bumping and Harry bit Peter's lip, gently. "I'd like that a lot," Peter whispered.

"It's only five," Harry whispered. "We have a little time, if you feel up to it…"

Peter hesitated, but nodded. They went to Harry's spacious bedroom and sat down on the bed. Harry had removed his shirt and Peter was in the process of unbuttoning his when he turned towards Harry and shook his head. Harry hesitated, then nodded and dashed into the bathroom.

"Sorry," Peter whispered when he came out. "I'm sorry. It's been months, I know, I should be fine. But I can't."

"Never mind that," Harry murmured, pulling his undershirt on and lying back on the pillows, disappointed but unwilling to show it. "In your own time Peter."

"I want to do this. Really, I do." He stretched out next to Harry. "But it still scares me. I'm still nervous. And I hate to keep working you up over nothing." He sighed. "Haven't been able to come up with a solution to the formula either. Penny keeps getting worse and I can't figure out how to deal with it."

"You've only be researching a few weeks. Don't be so hard on yourself." He kissed the top of Peter's head. "We'll get there. Have you considered talking to Xavier about your efforts with Penny? I'm sure he knows scientists who could help."

"I didn't want him to know about it, actually," Peter admitted. "The whole suggestion is on ethically shaky ground as it stands; I don't want him to doubt or second-guess whether or not I could help her or if it would work."

"Fair enough; but what if he knows what would _make_ it work?"

"Then I don't know!" He frowned and shifted closer to Harry. "If I tell him he might dissuade me, even get us into trouble. If I don't I might be damaging Penny's chances."

"I would tell him. If he disagrees, what can he do? It's not his decision to make. Emma and Flint are the ones we need to convince. But if he could help that might really make a difference."

"That's logical. I'll talk to him at the end of the next session. Still doesn't settle the other issue though."

"Look, Pete, I really don't mind if you wait." He squeezed Peter's shoulder. "Heck, I don't care if we wait until we're married.

"Pft," Peter scoffed, though Harry wasn't sure if that was about him waiting or them getting married. "Somehow I don't see that happening."

"You think I'm too impatient?"

"I think that OsCorp would never put up with a public marriage. Besides, that's a big step. Don't you think it's a little premature to think about that? I don't think either of us is really ready for such a commitment."

"Why not?" Harry's voice was earnest. "We already risk our lives for each other; I'd say that shows devotion. And who knows me better? Who could I possibly care about more? Who could care more about me? I want that for us Peter. It means stability, legal standing if one of us gets hurt, not to mention a visible sign of commitment. And I know what your arguments are and have been, and I have to say that they're mattering less and less."

"Sir?" Bernard's voice came from the hallway, cutting their conversation short. "You have a visitor."

Harry glanced at the clock which read a few minutes shy of six. "That's strange," he frowned, pulling on his collared shirt and buttoning it, trying to smooth out the wrinkles. " Warren shouldn't be here for almost an hour."

"He said he was from the Fisk Corporation over the voice box. According to your secretary you scheduled a meeting with a representative from Fisk last week but never showed."

"Shit. That's right. I said he could stop by my home office if it was really so important…"

He dashed out the door leaving Peter behind. When he reached the foyer, the elevator was just opening. The man who stepped out had different features from the portrait on the wall. Harry, however, could mentally erase the effects of surgery, no matter how they distorted his face. And there was no denying whose smile it was.

"Hello Harold."

There was a long pause as a million thoughts flew through Harry's mind. He was afraid for Peter who was still, hopefully, safe in his bedroom, and he was enraged that his father dared to set foot in the house, dared to confront him in such an intimate way. He wondered if he should go for his own glider before his father tried something or if he should play his father's game. For a moment, he was frightened just to see the man; then his resolve hardened.

"Get the hell out of my house," he snapped.

"What? A business associate can't pay a call to a fellow businessman? Such ingratitude, too. Considering whose house this really is. You put me off before but I felt this really couldn't wait any longer."

Harry wanted to ask him questions; where he'd been all of those years, how he'd managed to access the money from the labyrinth of off shore accounts, who he was really working for and how much he knew. But he suspected that any questions would tilt the situation to his erstwhile father's favor by giving the man an opportunity to taunt him, to flaunt his skill at evading Harry and making his life hell even from a distance.

"You aren't an associate of mine. Now get out or I will have security take you out."

"And what security would that be? Your little boy-toy going to web me? Kill me like the last time?"

"He wouldn't have to," Harry finally snapped, losing a portion of control. "I'd do it myself this time."

"How sweet."

"I don't have to put up with this in my own home. FLINT!"

A suddenly whirl of sand pounded into the room, pouring through cracks, up stairwells and down light fixtures. It enveloped Norman in a suffocating cloud before hardening and smashing him into the wall. He continued a barrage until Harry held up a hand for him to stop.

"What did you really come back here for?" Harry hissed. "And none of your bullshit."

"You'll find out soon enough," he smirked

"Throw him out," Harry directed Flint.

"I know where the exit is," Norman replied. "Only dropping by, you know." He leered again and headed back into the elevator.

"Follow him," Harry whispered to Flint who was still in sand form. "See that he does, in fact, leave. Make sure he doesn't cause any other problems."

"Kill him?" A mouth appeared in the sand to ask the question.

"No. Not yet, not until we find out what connections he has. It's too great of a risk. I'll look into Fisk though."

As Flint slipped out of the room, Peter dashed in.

"What was that Harry? I heard shouting."

"My dear old dad chose to pay us a visit," he replied in a tone that dripped sarcasm. "Seems he's been alive and well, though what the hell he's been doing I don't know. Don't worry, he's gone for now. Flint's making sure of it. But that's not really the point. Cocky bastard," Harry growled. "Doesn't want us to feel safe, even in our own house."

"Does he know about _us_?"

"Oh yeah."

"Do you think he intends to do anything about it?" Peter tried to keep his voice level.

"If he does, so what? He can't do anything about the identity issue without running into problems himself. About the other issue, the homosexuality – worst case scenario people find out early, best case he comes off looking like a bigot and screwing things up for his boss."

Peter wondered if this wasn't a rosy view of matters but kept silent. After a moment or two in silence, Harry shook his head as if to clear it.

"Come on, we won't get anything done agonizing over it. We might as well get ready for Warren to stop by."

Peter went off to make sure his camera was in order and there was fresh film in it before helping Harry to clean up and move around the furniture so that it would be out of the way and drape some of it with large swaths of cloth to provide a better background. Harry hauled out his easel and paints and they finished organizing everything just as Warren showed up, a blond who seemed initially shy but once he was comfortable was all smiles.

"Hello,' Harry shook his hand, returning the smile. "Glad you stopped by. This is Peter," he indicated towards Peter who waved hesitantly, "and he'll be taking a few pictures of you today while I sketch you. That way you can leave while I paint from the picture references."

"Sounds good," replied Warren as he removed his sports coat. He unbuttoned his collared shirt and Peter saw that there was a harness beneath the clothing that pinned the wings down so he could wear clothes that wouldn't look out of place.

"That looks painful," he murmured.

Warren shrugged. "Oh, I suppose it is a bit. But you get used to it after a while. And it's better than what I was doing before."

"What was that?"

"Hacking them off with knives and razors," he said in a conversational tone, as if he'd said nothing odd.

Peter's eyebrows shot upwards and he glanced at Harry who shrugged. The wings unfurled and when they did, both of them had to admit that the wingspan was impressive. After trying a few poses and taking a look at them on a digital camera that Harry had brought out in addition to Peter's film on, Warren settled on a pose that looked to Peter like it could have been torn out of a fashion magazine add. He had to admit that it made Warren looked quite striking, in a male model kind of way, but it did seem inappropriate for an oil painting intended for a mansion.

Harry took out a few pencils and was about to start sketching when he looked at Warren again.

"Actually, are you sure you wouldn't rather I paint you in flight?" He suggested casually. "It would show of your wings to a much greater effect and be something quite unique."

"Really? You could do that?"

"I do have a balcony. We're high enough up that it should be fairly private," he assured him. As least nobody had seen either him or Peter coming and going at various hours.

The three of them went outside where Warren flew around for a bit. Peter shot a few rolls of films and Harry did a few quick sketches before he finally came back down. Working quickly on a normal piece of paper, Harry drew a few samples of poses, allowing Warren to choose again.

"That one," he pointed. "The one where I'm flying upwards."

"Very good," Harry nodded as Warren started to fold his wings back in. They went back into the living room where Harry started sketching on the canvas. "If you would like, you can schedule times to see its progress or I could call you when it's ready. I would suggest the former, though; that way, you can suggest alterations if you see something you don't like."

"I'll do that," Warren replied with a smile. "See you later then." He turned and shook Peter's hand. "It was good to meet you Mr. Parker. Oh! One more thing."

"Yes?"

"You're the one who takes pictures of Spider-Man and Viridian, right?"

"I am."

Do you think you could, you know," he blushed and gestured around, "Get them to sign a picture for me?"

"What?" Peter stared at him blankly.

"Especially Spider-Man. I mean, he was part of my inspiration. When dad was trying to talk me into taking that treatment of his to get rid of my wings, thinking about Spidey and the good that could be done with the talent you're given is part of why I decided to keep them. As silly as it sounds, being at the X-Mansion and seeing people with powers every day, he's still a big hero of mine."

"Oh. Well, I'll see what I can do," Peter offered. "I mean, I've never asked him for something like that before. Them. Don't know what they'll say."

Warren shrugged and laughed. "I know. I'm a big dork and all. But I appreciate it. Thanks."

Draping his jacket over his arm he left with a final wave. Harry shot an amused smile at Peter.

"Giving out autographs now are we?"

"Guess I'll find an unused picture that has the both of us in it," he returned the smile shyly, gazing at Harry for a few moments longer. He looked so beautiful, especially his smile, Peter thought. It still curved in the same inviting way it had back in high school, the upper lip perfectly bowed. When his smile broadened, his teeth peeked out, glinting white and giving him a mischievous look.

It was good to see Harry's love of painting animating him. But seeing him so excited, even seeing Warren flying and looping in the air, made Peter reflect on the brevity of it all. Just like before, during the battle with Venom, it could be over in an instant. Penny was fading away and now Norman was back, threatening them even if Harry tried not to show concern.

"What?" Harry asked, laughing as Peter stared. His curled hair fell across his face and he brushed it back with a sweep of his hand.

Unbidden, a line came to Peter from the volumes of poetry he'd read on Octavius' recommendation about how to woo women. Did it work on men as well, he wondered?

"Gather ye rosebuds while ye may…" He murmured and pulled Harry back into the room, drawing the drapes and setting the camera aside. The couch was draped in a red velvet sheet from their session and he began undoing his buttons, smoothly without fumbling. The room suddenly felt warm and before he was much aware, Harry was pressed up against him and they were both shirtless again and Harry was working at Peter's belt.

"That age is best which is the first," Harry whispered into Peter's ear as he tugged the other's Levis off from around his waist and lowered him onto the cushions. "When youth and blood are warmer." Peter smiled in surprise that Harry knew the line, as Harry worked his way down Peter's neck, kissing until he reached his chest, and then looked up at him.

Harry moved slowly, carefully, giving Peter every attention and holding him tightly, flesh sliding against flesh. There was trembling and gasping but neither screamed. And when it was over, Harry pulled the sheet across them both as they curled up on the couch, limbs overlapping and entangled.

"That was… different," Peter whispered and for a moment Harry's heart fluttered with fear. Then Peter closed his eyes, smiled and nuzzled Harry's chest. "I liked it."

"So did I," Harry smiled.

"Mmmmmm," he sighed, relaxed and contented even if the couch was cramped.

Flint came back to report to Harry later but found them both sleeping on the couch, their clothes in a pile in front of it; even being made of sand, he still turned a shade of red. He slipped out of the room as quietly as he could, turning off the lights as he did so that they could sleep in peace.

_OOO _

A/N: Next chapter will have more with Norman and Fisk, as well as Penny. And if you would like the Peter/Harry scene (which was admittedly quite short, out of concern for keeping this to a 'T' rating) to be longer and the rating bumped up to 'M' say so and I'll be happy to oblige.


	32. Preparation

_OOO _

Peter had become a light sleeper over the course of the last few years; being Spider-man meant being ready to go at the slightest sign of trouble. Despite splitting shifts with Harry, he still found it difficult at times to drift into a solid sleep, and combined with his need to get up for class, his internal clock made him rise fairly early.

He opened his eyes to find Harry still draped over him, snoring soundly. The slim shafts of light that were peeking through the mostly closed curtains danced across Harry's face, casting shadows where his skin was furrowed with scars. He'd been assiduous at covering them up when he went out, but the sweating and rubbing of the previous night had worn the make-up away.

_Damaged goods_, he thought. _The both of us_.

But that didn't matter, not anymore. He knew he was wanted and loved and Harry knew the same, with no more lies or misunderstandings or omissions to keep them apart. No more promises of "don't tell" to keep, no more fear haunting him at every turn, no more interference creating distance. Now it was just them, holding on tightly, unwilling to be torn away from each other. As it had been back in high school, when they were outsiders due to brains or money, they had each other. Except now it was out of desire and not desperate necessity.

Sliding out from underneath Harry as quickly and as quietly as he could, Peter tugged on his boxers then knelt on the floor next to Harry and bit his ear.

"Gnh," Harry made an indistinct noise.

"Come to my room," he whispered into Harry's ear.

"Pete?" He yawned, sitting up a moment later. Peter was gone, however, and all that remained was a trailing red cloth, spread in the direction of his bedroom. Smirking, Harry tugged on his own boxers and an undershirt before following Peter's trail down the hallway.

When he reached the door it was closed, so he twisted the knob slowly and went in.

"Peter?" Harry looked about but couldn't see him. The lights in the room were off, with only a little light coming in through the blinds, so he reached for the switch. Before he could turn them on, however, a figure dropped down in front of him.

Harry started in surprise; Peter had gotten dressed in his Spider-man outfit and had apparently been clinging to the ceiling, only to suddenly drop down on a line of webbing. Reaching up, Peter tugged the bottom part of his mask down, revealing an upside-down smile beneath it.

"I figured you'd want to. You know, tradition and all."

Harry quirked an eyebrow at him then scoffed.

"Maybe that's how Spider-man kisses _women_," he sauntered into the room, closing the door behind him. "But that's not how _I_ kiss Peter Parker." With a sudden move, he tore the mask off of Peter's face with one hand then yanked the webbing with the other so hard that it snapped. Instead of letting Peter fall, however, he caught him as easily as he'd caught they vase they'd knocked over playing basketball so many months ago.

"Smooth," Peter murmured as Harry carried him over to the bed.

"What can I say?" Harry shrugged and grinned, his eyes dancing. "I'm just that good."

"Yeah," Peter twitched as Harry started peeling off the suit. "Yeah you are."

"Not so bad yourself," Harry teased as their lips met.

"Well you know what they call me – the _Amazing_ Spider-man. Didn't get that name for nothing."

"I'll say," he laughed before they stopped talking altogether.

_OOO _

When Norman returned, he went down to the facility where the children were being kept. Fisk was already there, looking at them behind a sheet of bulletproof Plexiglas. Emily was playing with dolls off to one side of the room while Benjamin was in a corner on the opposite side, hunched over and sobbing quietly, touching his cheek which had three gashes scored across it. In the middle of the floor there were two small lumps of brown and white fur punctuated by smears of blood.

"What happened?" Norman glanced at Benjamin before focusing his attention on Emily; she was busy ripping the heads off of the dolls and arranging the limbs in awkward positions.

"I decided to try a little experiment," Fisk explained. "I gave them a puppy."

"And?"

"Benjamin played with it at first, seemed to like it. Then Emily decided to yank it away. While she was tugging, the puppy grew upset and nipped her. In return, she tore its head off then went back to what she was doing. Her brother started crying and after several moments she screamed at him to shut up before slashing his face."

Norman's mouth widened into a smile. "That's my girl. Good, isn't she? She knows not to tolerate annoyance or slights."

"So it would seem."

Leaving Fisk's side, he entered the room where the children were. Emily immediately stood up and toddled over to him as quickly as she could, while Benjamin silenced what little crying he was still doing and shrank back into the corner, his body trembling. Norman looked at him disdainfully; he was probably going to need changing, the stupid brat. It was only at Fisk's insistence that he might yet show promise that Norman hadn't had him disposed of yet. And if Emily happened to go too far one day… well that was that and he wouldn't punish her for it.

Emily. She stood at his feet, expecting to be picked up but not lifting her arms or indicating that she wanted him to. He would in his own time, if he intended to, and no begging on her part would influence the decision. Bending over and scooping her up, Norman grinning into her eyes and she gave a grin that mirrored his own.

"Your fathers are very proud of you," he whispered to her. "So proud that we think you deserve a reward."

"Thank you," she whispered in the soft, high voice of childhood, her red flowered shirt reaching towards his black suit.

Taking her through the labyrinthine passageways of the laboratory, they reached a room filled with scientific apparatuses and computer equipment with one large chamber in the center of it. Setting her down for a moment, Norman stripped to his boxers and put a canister of green chemicals in the appropriate slot before similarly undressing Emily to her Pull-Ups, as if readying her for a bath.

Just once as he was pulling the shirt over her head did she make a little noise of distress. She did not like to be away from her partner, though they both understood it as necessary in case they gas had adverse effects on the symbiote. Norman supposed he ought to take a sample from his own to test the process on it, but first things first.

Stepping into the chamber, he activated it from a set of controls built within the walls of the chamber itself. The gas began pouring in, enveloping him and the child in his arms in a cloud of it. When they finally emerged, Norman was leering, soaking up the re-energizing feeling he got from the chamber's treatments, while Emily sat in his arms, pleased and proud, riding on a euphoric feeling herself.

Back at the play area, Fisk kept an eye on the boy. The girl was strong, but far too loyal to someone who was not him, even if she was supposedly one of his subordinates just as Norman was. As long as Norman was loyal, she would be too; but if Norman ever decided to break away or defect, she would become a threat. The boy should have been insurance against that possibility.

Yet it was months into the experiment and while he was developing at a similarly fast paced physical rate, he demonstrated no other signs of talent that might be useful. More than that, he was completely cowed by Emily, to say nothing of Norman; even if he was deployed against them, he might be too frightened to act if he didn't grow up soon. Of course, he was showing slightly more promise than Emily was in the realm of mental aptitude. But being a genius would not keep him alive when those claws were coming after him and Fisk already had any number of intelligent minds.

What he needed was another powered being under his control. Not Norman's, but _his_, exclusively. Given the level of risk associated with the creation of such a being and the eventual value to him, he could be a patient man. But even he had to admit that to go this long without any sign or reason given to hope was proving to be frustrating.

Now that his sister was gone, Ben realized that he could have access to their toys without reprisal. Reaching into the chest, he picked out a basketball and started to clumsily bounce it on one side of the room, staying clear from the mess in the center and from Emily's pile of mangled dolls. One particularly vigorous bounce, however, sent it rolling away from him, towards the puppy on the floor.

His face twisted into anxiety, as he did not want to go over there. He extended his arm, trying to grab the ball, but it was already out of his grasp. Nevertheless, he strained, extending his fingertips as far as possible in his attempt to get it back without having to go nearer to the mess.

In a blink, a white thread sprang from his wrist and attached to the ball, halting its progress. Benjamin tugged the ball back to himself then started bouncing it again, humming to himself as he did and seemingly unaware that he had done anything particularly special. Fisk, however, grinned from behind the glass and went in to pick the boy up.

"Good boy," he murmured. "Let's get your face cleaned up, shall we?"

Terrified to some degree of Fisk as well, he simply nodded. Stepping outside, Fisk yelled to a subordinate in a nearby room for the mess to be cleaned up and sanitized then took Benjamin to a medical area to be treated and changed. While he was being cared for, Fisk talked to him about the importance of keeping secrets, even from his father and his sister.

The boy nodded, disobedience not even crossing his mind. He suspected his father might be angry if he ever found out he was hiding something from him, but that threat was far off and distant whereas Fisk's implied warnings were immediate. Taken back to the play area, he resumed his activities with the basketball as though nothing had happened.

So Norman had a favorite and looked down upon his son; well, let him, Fisk thought. Let the both underestimate the boy until it was too late for them to prepare or shift his loyalties. The time might come when they would reap and regret the fruits of their labors.

_OOO _

"I'm sorry; I spread out into a cloud and tried to follow him as much as possible but he got away from me in the alleys. He just started going so fast, blending into those shadows…" Flint sighed. "Dunno where he went. But I'll be on the lookout if he ever comes again."

"He disappeared into the shadows?" Peter caught the one remark and it triggered a memory.

"Yeah, kinda like when we fought…" Flint's voice trailed off as the same thought occurred to them. "Kinda like when we fought underground when you had that suit on."

Harry frowned. "How is that even possible? He _just_ reappeared. The symbiote detached from me months ago."

"Who knows how long he's been following us, stalking us?" Peter replied, taking a drink of his coffee. "He could have been there that night. I wouldn't be surprised if he was. We didn't find the symbiote's remains; anything could have happened to it. He might have even come across it later, although given the circumstances and his behavior I think the former is much more likely. He must have been tracking us and come upon it in the bell tower, just like Eddie did."

"Except that unlike either Eddie or Gwen the man's a certified psychopath with enough powers of his own to already make him formidable without anything extra in the mix." Harry poured the rest of his coffee down the drain and rinsed his cup out. "This changes things, doesn't it?"

"We'll just have to be on guard more than usual," Peter shrugged, grabbing his backpack. He was still feeling relaxed and happy from the morning and didn't want to focus overmuch on the shadows that lingered in the background.

"Do you think we should invite Aunt May over here?" Harry buttoned up his blazer. "I remember he went after her the last time. Maybe it would be safer if she stayed with us for a while for protection."

"You can offer," Peter replied doubtfully. "But I don't know if she'll accept."

"I'll try, after work," he said as he picked up his briefcase. "I just don't want her getting caught in the middle of things and getting hurt. And he's the type who would prey upon someone like her."

"I understand; I don't want her ending up in the hospital, or worse, either. That's probably the worst part of the job." He came over and kissed Harry. "Have a good day at work, ok? Don't go getting into too much trouble."

"You either," Harry replied fondly. "Enjoy your class and stay safe on patrol."

"Will do."

They leaned in for one more kiss before heading out on their separate ways, ready to face the day ahead of them whatever it might bring.

_OOO _

A/N: A little more Peter/Harry and a bit of a furthering of Norman's plans. The plot is moving along fairly well now, I think, and will continue to do so. And just as a hint/warning of things to come, towards the end you can look forward to one character dying and another reappearing – though no hints as to whom they'll be. It will be important though – and will likely lead in to the sequel. :) Thanks, as always, for reading and I would love it if you left a review. Also, a special thanks goes out to MarronSunshine, who beta'd this chapter for me; you're all kinds of marvelous. And another shout out goes to shade – thanks for your encouragement. You always manage to lift my spirits when the flamers come around. :-)


	33. Points of Origin

_OOO_

"Of course I was careful!" MJ winced at the irritated sound of Johnny's voice and looked down at the brushed steel table in front of her; for being state-of-the-art it surprised her that the Baxter Building's walls weren't even soundproof. "I'm always careful even if you don't think so!"

"Well you weren't this time!" A deeper, masculine voice snapped.

"Oh, and you think it's so unlikely that an accident might have happened. I mean, it's not like _that_. But… seriously, why do you have to be such a douchebag about this?"

"Because you've gone and gotten yourself into trouble again and refuse to get yourself out of it!"

"Trouble? It's my _kid_, Reed. You wouldn't be saying this if it was you and Sue!" Johnny was getting louder by the minute; Mary Jane bit her lip and looked at her nails as the rant went on.

"Susan and I are a, married, and b, responsible adults. You, however…"

"What? Another shot about how I'm a kid?"

"Immature adolescent was the phrase I was going to use…" Reed sighed as if he were tired and feeling put upon by Johnny.

"Well fuck you!" There was a smash. "I was going to ask her anyway, now we'll just have to move things up a bit."

"Everybody is going to know Johnny. Even if you do hurry up and get married."

"So what? It's nothing that other people haven't done. Like Usher. Hell, most of them don't even get married. I'm doing the responsible thing and you want to chew me out for it? What do you want me to do, leave her by the curb? And don't tell me what you think the responsible thing is, I already told you we're not doing that! She doesn't want to and neither do I."

"Johnny, a child is not a toy or an amusement!"

"And what do you mean by 'everybody' anyway?" Johnny went back to the earlier comment. "Who the hell do you think _everybody_ is? Dr. Doom? You think he gives a shit? Your precious investors? What, you're going to live your life by what a bunch of corporate suits think? Well if that's what you want to do, fine, but I say screw it."

"Have you even thought about Doom, Johnny? What danger your child would be in?" Reed's tone went from mildly chastising to severe.

"No more than any of us. I can protect my own. Hell, I don't even need help from you; I don't even want help from you!" There was the clang of metal as Johnny kicked something. "Besides, MJ has friends too!"

"Please, Johnny. Be serious. Pulling her out of the clutches of madmen once or twice doesn't mean that Spider-Man is going to come calling if you need a babysitter for the evening." He paused. "Have you even really gotten to _know _her Johnny? I mean, she's pretty; but you shouldn't be naïve. Having a kid well… to put it bluntly, it ties you down."

"What?" Johnny's voice grew cold and strained.

"You're famous Johnny; and this company – you're part of it. It's worth a lot and it possesses a great many corporate secrets. Plus there's everything you endorse and do on the side, not to mention what she'd inevitably learn from living here or near here…"

"Are you calling her a gold digger?" He hissed.

MJ heard the faint whoosh of Johnny igniting himself and she cast a brief glance at the blonde woman across the table. The red-head was painfully reminded of Norman Osborn's behavior on a Thanksgiving from ages ago and wondering if she should be making her exit now as then.

"I'm sorry," Susan whispered, a red blush on her cheeks. "Reed gets so impatient with Johnny sometimes."

"_FUCK YOU REED_!"

"JOHNNY!" Reed sounded appalled.

Johnny came storming out, still ablaze, and pointed at his sister. "And you're no better than he is!" Johnny shouted at her before his flames died down and he turned to MJ. "Come on, baby. We have a lot of work to do, but we don't need them to get it done."

Still fuming, he ushered her into the elevator and out of the Baxter Building to where his sports car was waiting on the curb. He opened the door for her then got in on the driver's side, slamming the door behind him and peeling out with a squeal that drew honks from other drivers. Before long he was caught in the congestion that was New York traffic; while they were stopped, he leaned over and kissed Mary Jane.

"Just ignore Reed," he whispered. "Pretentious fucker, thinks he's such a saint."

"I'm sorry," MJ turned away, tears in her eyes.

"There's nothing to be sorry about." Johnny gripped the steering wheel and looked in front of him. "We behaved like normal people, not like Reed with that stick up his ass all the time."

"But what about my career?" She bit her lip doubtfully.

"Relax; you'll finish up filming for the movie you're doing right now and then take a break, have the kid, see a trainer and be right back where you were. Besides," he glanced to the right as he changed lanes, "being pregnant is in at the moment. Gwen Stefani, Angelina Jolie, Gwyneth Paltrow, Katie Holmes, Britney Spears – OK, maybe those last couple are bad examples. But the point is that having a kid didn't slow the other ones down.

"And anyway, I'll be there to support you," he winked.

Despite her muddled feelings, MJ laughed. "I don't want our son or daughter being some sidekick!"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Child endangerment and all. Heard it before. No worries." He leaned back in his seat and turned on the radio, surfing through a few channels before turning it off again. "Nothing good. Anyway, we need to plan the wedding first. You thinking about a list yet? Big or small. I mean, this is for you so whatever you want. I'd go to Vegas tonight if you were chill with that."

"Not Vegas! But small, I think," she replied. "Maybe on a boat. That would be nice."

"Boat, eh? Can do. We'll want Ben to come for sure; he's my pal and backed me up when I told him. Best man, definitely. And I guess Reed and Sue too; they're family no matter how you look at it."

"Then I suppose I should invite my father and mother," she sighed. "Although I'm sure my father will give me hell about this."

"Hey, if you don't wanna, you don't gotta. Not gonna bother me."

"Maybe not then… Oh, but Peter and Harry for sure."

"I don't think they liked me very much," Johnny looked at her hesitantly. "You sure that's a good idea? I don't know if they've gotten used to 'us' yet. Well, to me really."

"Then now's the perfect time to make a reconciliation," she stated firmly. "I care about them too; it's been a while, but I do. They've been close friends of mine for ages and I'm not just going to cut them out of this."

"So then…" Johnny shot her a mischievous grin. "Which one's going to be the maid of honor? And do you think they make bridesmaids dresses in their size?"

"Johnny!" She smacked him on the arm and he laughed as they pulled up to his townhouse.

Screw Reed, he thought; screw him and all his talking down and nervousness and reservations. MJ was beautiful; he was going to be a father; they lived lives that other people dreamed of; and at the end of the day it would all be fine.

_OOO_

Peter held on tightly to the subway rail, trying to keep a hold on his books and looking forward to taking a nap when he got home. He'd had an afternoon scuffle with a couple of muggers that had taken him way out of his way, which coupled with a lab earlier that day left him exhausted enough to consider the subway a better option than webbing over.

Behind him a trio of adolescent girls entered and squashed in behind him, trying to maneuver with all of their shopping bags.

"Oh come on, you're telling me you don't think he's hot?" The brunette who had red streaks in her hair laughed and tucked a lock behind her ear.

"I'm not saying he's not hot. I mean, yeah, it takes a lot to look good in spandex. That's not what I'm saying. Just that Viridian is a lot more buff than Spider-Man is." A blonde gestured with a nail-polished hand.

"How can you even tell?" The third interjected with a bored air. "He wears so much armor and padding and shit."

"Oh you can tell. I mean, look at his arms! Are you trying to tell me he could have arms that like and _not_ be totally ripped?"

_They're talking about us,_ Peter realized with a blush as he listened in. _Me and Harry. They're talking about us and being attractive and… oh geez._

"Well I still say that Spider-Man is better," the first broke in. "Look at how flexible he is! Come on now; doesn't that give you just a _few_ ideas?" Peter nearly face-vaulted. "Besides, that kissing upside-down thing is totally hot."

"And I told you, I'm not into the male gymnast thing."

"You're both nuts," the third girl laughed. "Thinking about guys running around in Halloween costumes all the time. _Freaks_. And anyway, as if either of them would be into either of you."

"Hey Chrissy? You know what would be even hotter?" The brunette turned to the blonde and lowered her voice to a whispered. "If they were into each other."

The two of them broke into a spate of giggles and Peter felt like he was about to faint. The third scoffed.

"Honestly! You two have watched _Alexander_ and _Brokeback Mountain_ one too many times. That's just… that's just stupid!"

"Don't be such a prude, Madison, you know it'd be, like, _so_ cute." Chrissy was still giggling. "I mean, if one guy is hot, then two hot guys together is like… hotness multiplied or squared or something. Right?"

"You make no sense at all," Madison sighed. "Sometimes I wonder why I'm even friends with you two."

"'Cause we're awesome," Chrissy asserted confidently. "So Dani – you think they look as good as Heath Ledger and Jake Gyllenhaal?"

"I guess we'll never know," the brunette sighed regretfully.

The next stop was Peter's, although he would have probably gotten off regardless and taken a cab back to the penthouse for the sake of his burning ears. He sighed in relief as he made his way topside again and down the street to the elevator entrance. After all, having admirers was one thing, but he'd never really occurred to him they might be imagining stuff like _that_.

When he got upstairs, he found Harry in the kitchen cutting up mushrooms for a chicken dish he was making. He set down the knife and turned to give Peter a grin.

"Hey there. You look vaguely traumatized. What's up?"

"Teenage girls are _crazy_," Peter began before launching into an explanation of how his day had gone. When he was finished, Harry tossed back his head and laughed.

"Well, it's good to know that if we ever get caught making out in an alley or something we won't lose all our fans."

"I'll say it again – crazy. So what's that you're making?" Peter leaned over his shoulder.

"Thought I'd try my hand at Chicken Marseilles. It will be a while before it's finished though, so if you want to take a nap, feel free. You look pretty beat."

"I think I'll take you up on that. Call me when it's ready."

After crashing on his bed for the better part of an hour, Harry finally woke Peter up for dinner. Peter had to admit, it wasn't half bad. Maybe not restaurant quality – at least not the restaurants that he ate at with Harry, the kind with professional chefs in the kitchen – but nothing like his own pitiful attempts at dishes like macaroni or tuna casserole.

When they finished, Harry went to the couch to watch TV and Peter joined him moments later. He leaned up against Harry who was flipping between sports channels, studying his face.

"Harry?" The other man's attention refocused down towards him.

"Yeah?"

"Harry, when were you first attracted to me?"

"Introspective, much?"

"I was just wondering. You know."

"I asked myself that question a lot at first," he said, settling on a channel showing football highlights. "I would have to say… well, probably back in high school."

"That far back?"

"I'm pretty sure. Nothing serious back then, not like it is now. It was more like a crush. A feeling every now and then that I couldn't quite define or explain. I remember that time we tried out for basketball. Afterwards we'd gone to the locker rooms to change and you were there, red and out of breath, sweaty and tired, looking like you were about to keel over. You looked at me and down and asked if I was thinking about the cheerleaders; I didn't know what to think so I said yes, and convinced myself of it too.

"But you… really, you were about the cutest thing I'd ever seen. All round and soft at the edges." Harry's lips quirked upwards and he brushed Peter's bangs out of his eyes.

"Cute?" Peter raised an eyebrow. "Round? Soft? You make me sound like the Pillsbury Doughboy."

"Cute," Harry repeated and kissed Peter's temple. "You weren't quite as toned back then, if you care to remember. Couldn't quite go around punching Flash down hallways. So yes, cute. And you've always had this… I don't know. Mellowness I suppose. Everybody else seemed so driven and hard, full of edges. My father's face was like that – squared jaws and sharp noses. But you were quiet, good natured, patient and easy going – and had the widest eyes I'd ever seen."

"And was out of shape."

"Well, yes, if you're going to fixate on that," Harry rolled his eyes. "Seriously Pete. You're probably the best human being I've ever met, flaws and all. Back then it was just a teen thing. Hell, half the time I didn't know _what_ I was feeling or what my hormones were doing. Even if I did, with my dad around and all his expectations I don't think I could have owned up to it. I might have kissed you, maybe fooled around, but no way would I have been mature or confident enough for a stable relationship.

"But going off the deep end and practically dying teaches you a thing or two. By the end of it, if you aren't insane, you know what your priorities are, and mine is you. You to come home to, you to support, you to watch my back, you to be my true and loving family. You suddenly meant everything to me; and I can't tell you how scared I was that you wouldn't reciprocate, that I'd lose you right when I realized how much you meant, right after I found you.

"I've said it before; you were always the best friend I ever had. But I like our life even better since you've become more than a friend. Yeah, you were always lovable. But now..." he lowered his voice and stroked Peter's face with the back of his hand. "Now you flip every switch I've ever had." 

"But you still think I'm cute?" Peter smiled.

"Yes," Harry poked him in the side. "I still think you're cute. I'll think you're cute even when you're old and grey and your skin looks like Bernard's."

"Bernard's?!" Peter laughed as Harry poked him a couple more times and he fell back on the couch.

"Mmm-hmmm," Harry affirmed through a mouth full of Peter's tongue. When he broke the kiss Harry looked down into the eyes that he loved so much and smiled. "And what about me? Think I'll still turn you on in the long haul?"

"You," Peter said, giving him another quick kiss, "are distinguished. And will be _especially _when you're old and silver and still looking attractive and everybody will be wondering what you're doing with me."

Harry chuckled then resumed kissing Peter until he heard Bernard clear his throat.

"Sir?"

"Gmnh?"

"Mary Jane Watson and a Mr. Storm here to see you."

"MJ?" Peter sat up as well as he could with Harry still leaning over him.

"And that man-whore boyfriend of hers," Harry growled.

"What do you think they want?" Peter wondered as he attempted to straighten out his clothing.

"Whatever it is – well, at least it's not Norman paying another call." Harry shrugged as they went to go meet them.

_OOO_

A/N: I'll save the meeting for next time – that's all for now, although I promise there will be more action. Soon. Really. ;) Also, again, many thanks to MarronSunshine, who did a marvelous and thorough job beta reading this chapter.


	34. Friends and Family

_OOO_

Harry wasn't pleased when Johnny appeared in his foyer, the blond's arm slung around Mary Jane looking like it belonged there. Though Harry was no longer interested in dating Mary Jane and knew she couldn't take Peter away, it still grated him beyond belief that she had fallen into Storm's arms to fill the void.

Nevertheless, he knew what it was to be a good host, so he invited them in. They sat in awkward silence in the living room, Peter with a determined smile plastered on his face, Harry shooting daggers at Johnny, Mary Jane glancing nervously from Peter to Harry and Johnny shifting his gaze between MJ, the floor and the ceiling. Finally, Harry stood, opened the liquor cabinet and got out a bottle of scotch and some glass tumblers.

He offered Johnny a glass and poured one for himself. Peter declined, as Harry knew he would, having only offered out of convention. When he turned towards Mary Jane, he expected her to accept. She wasn't a heavy drinker but she didn't mind it when it seemed socially appropriate, and she had enjoyed the type of scotch Harry could afford, or at least she had when they were dating.

She politely shook her head however. "I can't, but thanks."

"_Can't?_" Harry's visage turned murderous and he slammed the scotch onto the desk so hard that Peter expected it to shatter. "You asshole!" He rounded on Johnny. "Is that what this is about? Is that what you came to tell us?" He grabbed one of the glasses of scotch and towered over Johnny. "You knocked her up, didn't you, you son of a bitch!" Without waiting for a reply he splashed the contents of the glass in Johnny's face.

"HARRY!" Peter and MJ screamed in unison.

"I didn't come here for this!" MJ snapped. "I would have thought you two would have at least listened to what we had to say without making any assumptions or being so absolutely rude!" She glared at him, infuriated.

"_Did _he get you into trouble?" Peter inquired nervously.

"Trouble?" Johnny scoffed. "Is that what you call it? What, do you still live in the fifties?"

"At least he's not a filthy frat boy who never grew up and will fuck anything on two legs," Harry retorted. "Or am I mistaken? Do you go in for four-legged fun just like you go in for quadruple partners?"

"Oh, yeah, real nice coming from you two." Johnny rolled his eyes. "You know, this is real convenient. Criticizing me because my mistakes end up being public. You can't even _get _him prego, so don't go ragging on me you fucking hypocrite, not when you don't know anything about it."

"I'm very happy for you two," Peter offered, wondering how to calm a situation that was getting out of hand. "Please, Harry, sit down and calm down. MJ is still our friend."

"He's not," Harry pointed an accusing finger.

"He's going to be my husband!" Mary Jane retorted.

"Husband!" Harry sounded flabbergasted and offended. "That piece of trash?! Seriously, MJ, you can do better than that! Hell, I'll support you whatever you do, as long as you don't end up with that... that asshole!"

"Harry!" Peter admonished. "MJ, that's wonderful. And I'm glad you're there for her," he nodded to Johnny.

"Yeah, there for her." Harry rolled his eyes. "Still going to be propositioning orgies with every couple that strikes your fancy? Hell, are you even sure the kid's yours? Had any threesomes lately?"

"That was early on!" Johnny flushed and sprang to his feet, pointing at his chest. "I've been faithful."

"Like hell you have." Harry looked at MJ. "Surprised? That's right - the night we went out together, Sparky here tried to get a thing going with the four of us. Said that we'd all dated you and he liked the look of us so he figured there would be no objections."

"He told me," Mary Jane replied coldly, although she glared at Johnny as well. "And I wasn't happy about it. But it was a one time thing."

"You sure about that?" Harry's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"At least I'm marrying her - can't say the same for you and your little fuckbuddy there!" Johnny gestured towards Peter who blushed. "Shacking up in a penthouse with the richest guy on the block - what, he couldn't afford tuition on his own?"

"Johnny!" MJ smacked his arm. "Peter's being polite! There's no need to say something like that!"

"I just don't see why rich boy here acts all condescending towards me when he's probably fucking Peter more often than they can keep track of. And he acts like _I'm _the slut? Like _we're _the ones with the superficial relationship? At least I'll admit to having one in public!"

Peter felt like his throat was closing up. He turned away from the arguing trio and went down the hall, feeling embarrassed and worn and wanting nothing more than to lock himself in his room.

"Peter?" MJ called after him but he didn't reply.

Harry notice and advanced on Johnny, lashing out with a sudden punch that crunched against the blond's jaw.

"You bastard!" Johnny sputtered.

"Talk about Peter like that again and I don't care who you are or what kind of powers you have, I will _kill _you!" He screamed. "You talk about me knowing nothing? You're the one shooting your mouth off! You have no idea how it is between me and Peter! You have no right to say shit like that!"

"And you do about me?!"

"Yes!" He stepped closer and Johnny backed away. "All I've ever seen from you is immature, boorish, whorish behavior. And you come here to tell me you got MJ pregnant and I'm supposed to be cool with that because you're going to put a ring on her finger? You can't keep it in your pants for five minutes and I'm supposed to believe you'll make her happy long term?"

"Back the fuck off, buddy," Johnny snapped, igniting his hands. "Or I'll balance out your face by fixing the other side of it."

"Screw you," Harry scoffed and, thinking back to his lessons with Matthew, gave Johnny a swift kick to his stomach, winding the other man. Johnny responded by dashing at Harry, his body bursting into flame, until MJ physically put herself between the two.

Unwilling to risk her, at least, Harry backed away, swatting out a fire that had singed his shirt, and Johnny stood off to the side, shutting down his flames.

"What the hell is wrong with the both of you?" She snapped. "There's something wrong with Peter - haven't you even noticed?" She asked Harry.

"I know what's wrong - him. Every time..." he sighed. "I'll go check on him."

"Can I come with you?" She asked.

"I suppose - although I hate leaving him in here alone," he glared at Johnny.

"I promise not to steal your Corinthian leather futon," Johnny intoned sarcastically and rolled his eyes.

"Come on then. I need to explain something to you," he sighed.

"What is it? What's the matter?"

"Let's go over here," he said, leading her into a small side room down the hall that contained painting supplies. "Maybe we should have told you this before. I suppose we should have. But - well, it was just so hard to talk about it even between us. We haven't even said anything to Aunt May, just to one or two others who were tangentially involved."

"What?" She looked confused. "What are you talking about? What happened?"

"Peter got raped," Harry sighed.

"What?" She gasped, putting her hand over her mouth. "When? Who did it? I mean... I mean, how?"

"It's a long story and one that neither of us particularly cares to retell. We went after a villain, a female, possessed by the black symbiote that had taken over Peter. It - the symbiote - wanted power. It wanted Peter back, one way or another, quite badly. So it fought us, overpowered us for a time and in the process," he told her, his voice growing strained, "it raped Peter."

"Oh my God."

"Afterwards he was very... well, he had a tough time being intimate. It left him feeling hurt and dirty, made him feel guilty about a lot of things that weren't his fault. It took months of therapy for him to get comfortable with being touched again. He takes our intimacy very seriously.

"So when Johnny comes around, acting like he does - it brings up the worst of the feelings and memories. And accusing us of something like that - that's what we were working to move beyond. He basically told Peter tonight everything that I spent months assuring Pete wasn't true. That our relationship meant nothing deeper than physical pleasure, that he was somehow dirtied by the rape, and so on. Maybe he didn't mean it, but Johnny's insults cut Peter." Closing his eyes, Harry sighed and rubbed his temples. "I know, I provoked it. But he's just so... I can't _stand _him!"

"Please try," MJ asked. "I'll warn him - I won't tell him specifics, I'm sure that's not what you and Peter want - but I'll let him know he needs to behave. Just - I have fun with him. And as brash as he can be, he understands me and supports me. We're similar in a lot of ways, and not just the ones you might think.

"So yes, I am going to marry him. Maybe you won't believe me, but it's something we were thinking about even before I got pregnant. It really was. It sounds clichéd, but you don't know Johnny like I do. He's not as bad as you think he is. Promise you'll give him a chance?"

Harry looked away from her for a moment and sighed, then looked back. "I suppose. But if I do, it's for you, not because I'm suddenly eager to be buddy-buddy with him. I'll be more civil, get to know him I suppose - just don't except us to be hanging out together on the weekends or something."

"That's fine," she exhaled in relief. "That's all I ask. All I want is for you two to behave decently. I care about all of you and I don't want to feel like I have to choose."

"You don't," he assured her and gave her a faint smile. She returned it and kissed him on the cheek. "Now let's check up on Peter," he suggested, leading her down the hall.

'Peter?" She knocked lightly on the door. "Peter, can we come in?"

There was no response, so Harry opened the door slowly. "Buddy?" He stepped in the room and MJ followed him. "Hey," he sat on the edge of the bed next to where where Peter was sitting, staring at a landscape on the wall with a tight, angry expression fixed on his face. "It's alright, Pete. OK? Everybody's calmed down now."

"Johnny didn't mean those things he said," MJ added, walking over and kneeling next to where Harry was sitting. "Sometimes he says things without thinking."

"I'm not going to put up with that," Peter shook his head. "Not even for you MJ. I'm not going to sit there and let someone like him imply that I'm just some rent-boy living with a rich guy who likes to fuck me." He looked at her, his eyes cold. "I'll put up with a lot. But not that. Harry and I don't deserve it, not from people who are supposed to be our friends."

"I know, I know. Anybody who knows either of you knows better than that. Johnny was agitated and angry - we all were - and he said some things to hurt you without understanding the situation. I'll talk to him, I promise you. No specifics but... it won't happen again."

Peter looked towards Harry. "You told her?"

"She needed to know," Harry sighed. "But she's our friend and she doesn't think any differently about you or me because of it. It's alright."

A long silence followed until Peter finally unfolded his arms and embraced MJ. "I'm happy for you. Really I am. And I wish you nothing but the best." He kissed her on the cheek.

"Thanks. I hope the same for you two." She gave him a genuine smile. "You deserve it if anybody does."

Peter returned the smile then focused on his hands. They sat for a moment before he looked up at her again. "Do you know anything about the baby?"

MJ shook her head. "It's a bit too soon to tell gender."

"Are you going to find out? Or do you want it to be a surprise?" Harry asked.

"We'll find out, I think." She laughed. "If only to narrow down the list of names."

"That long, hunh?" Peter smiled.

"Yeah. Although longer for girls than for guys. If it's a boy - well, Johnny's pretty well set on naming the boy Ben. After his friend Ben Grimm, you know - he was the only one of Johnny's inner circle who was good to us. Not family exactly, but he was better to us than Johnny's sister and her husband were."

"I'm not surprised," Peter sighed.

"What?" She looked at him curiously. "You know them?"

"Only by reputation. But in the scientific community... well, Reed Richards isn't exactly known for taming his ego. In my unprofessional opinion as a scientist and a crime fighter it's what's always made him and Doom an irresistible draw to each other. Both always certain they're right, both always wanting to be in control... it's not hard to suppose that someone like Johnny could get under Reed's skin."

"Well, he does. Reed chewed him out for about half an hour when he found out." She grimaced at the memory and then laughed. "He warned Johnny about Doom and our kid - said that Spider-man wasn't going to show up to protect us and babysit."

Peter grinned. "Well, maybe once in a while. Babysitting that is. Protecting your child - always, MJ. Like the kid was our own."

"Agreed," Harry nodded. "I might not be crazy about the kid's dad - but we'll always be there for you _and _your child." He grinned. "And if it is a boy and you haven't thought of a middle name yet - Harold isn't bad."

MJ laughed and punched his arm affectionately. As they stood to leave, Johnny barged into the room without warning. "Hey, I know you wanted your private time and all, but there's some old broad here, just came up the elevator. Wondered who I was, said Harry invited her to stay over."

"Oh shit," Harry started for the door. "It's Aunt May."

"Aunt May?" Peter followed on his heels. "She accepted?"

"Yeah, I meant to tell you after dinner. Forgot, what with MJ coming over."

"Why is Aunt May here?" MJ picked up her pace to catch up with Peter.

"Long story," Peter replied.

"Involving Norman," Harry added.

"Your father?" MJ sounded shocked. "But he's dead!"

"Yeah, that's what we thought too. Until a day or so ago." Harry stopped for a moment. "Probably should have told you about that one earlier. But we wanted to make sure she knew, that she was safe before anything."

"And not me?" She raised an eyebrow.

"I'd planned to, soon. But you were a little more distant, since you're not dating either of us, so it wasn't as urgent. Besides," he smirked at Johnny, "you have your own personal hero."

"Very funny," Johnny snapped. "So now you're going to have some biddy living here with you too?"

"Don't talk about Aunt May that way!" Peter sounded aggravated.

""Yeah, Johnny." MJ warned. "_Behave_. Haven't you caused enough trouble for one day?"

"Fine, fine." He threw up his arms. "But I still think you two are crazy."

"Says the guy who sets himself on fire for a living." Harry burst into the living room. "Aunt May!" He swooped over and gave her a hug, releasing her only to let Peter embrace her.

"Harry! Peter" She gave the red-head a smile as soon as she saw her. "And even Mary Jane! How are you dear?"

"Doing well, Aunt May," MJ replied as she hugged her. "Just came here to tell Peter and Harry the good news."

"Oh?" May smiled at her knowingly.

"I'm getting married!" She grinned.

"Why that's wonderful!"

"Aunt May," MJ said as she dragged Johnny over, "This is Jonathan Storm." She elbowed Johnny who extended his hand towards the older woman.

"Nice to meet you, ma'am."

"It's lovely to meet you too," she smiled, grasping Johnny's hand with a grip that surprised him.

"Come on," Harry offered. "Let's all go into the kitchen and I'll make us all something to eat and drink. Don't worry," he told Aunt May. "Flint will get your bags."

"Flint Marko?" MJ asked. "Sandman?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded. "He's been the security detail around here for a while. But that's not public information, exactly, so I would appreciate it if you would keep that knowledge private."

"Like I said," Johnny whispered. "_Crazy_!"

"Johnny!" She hissed.

"Who wants tea?" Harry spoke up.

"I'll help you," Aunt May offered.

"No, no, you sit down. Talk to Peter," Harry pulled out a chair for her. "I'll take care of everything."

As Harry set water on to boil, the other four sat around the table. It still wasn't entirely comfortable, Peter thought, but they were infinitely more at ease than the previous chat they'd had.

_OOO_

A/N: Another talky chapter – but there is action, just around the corner. Also, a wider variety of characters, including Matthew. Hope you enjoyed this installment and I would be quite grateful if you would leave any comments, thoughts, suggestions, etc. in a review. :)


	35. Shadowed Horizons

_OOO_

"Now remember," Harry admonished Aunt May but only half seriously, "That I don't want you working too hard. Peter and I are more than capable of cooking for ourselves and we hire people to take care of other stuff."

"You mean like that Bernard gentleman?" She looked amused.

"He's got to earn his keep somehow," Harry teased. "You're here because you're family, not to be a housekeeper."

"That's sweet of you dear, but I need to stay busy one way or another," she smiled. "A little laundry or dinner now and then won't be a problem."

Harry laughed, "I give up," he said, leaning over to kiss her on the cheek. "Remember, be careful for awhile. OK?"

"I remember what he did the last time, Harry," she replied softly. "You don't have to warn me."

He paused. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize Harold. Your father's sins aren't yours."

"I did a lot of wrong though, pursuing vengeance for him."

"Like I've always told Peter - we make mistakes. It's what we do to correct them that matters most. And you have done an admirable job." She patted his hand. "You're a loving, decent man and nothing your father does can take that away from you."

He gave her a quick hug and before allowing her to get back to rearranging her effects from home. He turned and frowned slightly. "I'm worried about what else he might take from me - from _us _- though."

"Nothing to do but face that problem when it comes, dear." She looked up from a comforter she was folding. "But for what it's worth, I have faith in you and Peter and Flint."

"Thanks Aunt May." He left, consoled with the knowledge that she, at least, was safe.

_OOO_

The next day, after his classes, Peter grabbed a cab to Matthew's. The lawyer opened the doors of the brownstone and took him to the practice room where Peter started to stretch. Much to Peter's relief, Matthew had finally agreed to let them in on what he'd been up to. Peter had pleaded with him, saying they needed to trust each other, and Matthew had reluctantly come around.

"Harry sends his regards." He rounded off a set of handsprings on the floor mat. "He had a meeting today that really couldn't be avoided."

"I know the feeling," Matthew sighed. "Cases are piling up and when I'm not working for my clients, tracking down the activity of the Fisk corporation is practically a full time job in and of itself. The word on the street - what little word there is - is that he's trying to break into the metahuman market, so to speak. Looking for source of super-powered beings, trying to get a few on the payroll maybe.

"I need to do everything I can to keep that technology out of his hands. He has enough resources as it is without getting his hands on something like one of those spiders or that formula Harry used. The last thing we need is power like that spreading to organized crime. In some ways, characters like Doom are almost easier to deal with - they make themselves obvious targets."

'I see what you mean. The fewer weirdos I have to deal with the better; I'm just glad most of us are on the same side. Well, relatively the same." He started taping his hands, then looked at Matt, frowning. "Wait a second - did you say Fisk?"

"Yes, Wilson Fisk, aka the Kingpin. Major crime lord who masquerades as a legitimate businessman. I've been trying to bring him down for ages, but he covers his tracks well and manages to maintain control."

"Fisk... I think we might already be in trouble." His voice emanated his concern.

"What do you mean?"

"Harry and I meant to tell you about it, the first chance we got. We were right - Harry's dad was alive. Came to pay us a little visit, threatened to tank OsCorp by outing Harry. I remember when he came up, Bernard said that he was a representative of the Fisk Corporation, used that as his cover to meet with Harry. I didn't think much of it, but now.." He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "It fills in a lot of blanks. How he managed to live incognito, how he tracked us down... he got operations you know. Looks different."

"Shit," Matthew cursed in a tone that was angrier than any Peter had ever heard out of him. "_Shit! _You know what this means, don't you? He could already have the formula!"

"He might. But I don't think he does." Peter leaned against the wall. "Norman isn't... Norman likes to be in charge. If Kingpin is who you say he is, there's no chance that he's working for Norman - Norman's working for him. Has to be. If that's true I'm guessing he can't be very happy about it."

"So you think he's kept the formula a secret as a way of maintaining an edge?"

"He would want to as long as possible." Peter finished taping up his hands. "Once he gives that away, Fisk won't need him anymore. Except..."

"Except? I'm not liking the sound of that."

"Except that after Norman came by, Harry had Flint follow him. Flint tracked him for a while before he lost him - said that he blended into the shadows, like I did in the subway. Back when I was wearing the symbiote suit."

"You think Norman has the symbiote?" Matthew's voice was a mixture of tightly controlled rage and disbelief.

"Probably. He's been stalking us - not such a big leap to think he was there that night." He stood up on the beam before launching into a run and doing a few flips down it and dismounting. "At least that's what I theorized to Harry. We brought Aunt May back to our place to keep her safe just in case - but other than that, not sure what else we can do. To the world he's a legitimate businessman."

"Same problem I keep running into with Fisk." Matthew tossed Peter a staff to spar with. "The whole world thinks they're philanthropists while they're busy running guns, putting drugs on the street and worse - the kind of crime you don't even want to mention or think about." They exchanged a few light blows. "It's enough to make you despair of the race."

"You've been spending a lot of time on this." Peter kept a watchful eye on Matt as they paced around in a circle.

"I know; I must sound terribly pessimistic to you." Matthew listened intently, trying to keep track of Peter's steps as he spoke, whirling the staff around in his hands while he moved in a slow circle.

"You do; but I can understand why. Can't say that in a decade I might not think things look that bleak." Peter tensed and waited for the first move.

"In ten years, I hope things will be at least a little better. But I have my doubts. Meanwhile we need to figure out what we're going to do about Osborn and Fisk, before things go futher than they already have." Matthew leaped forward in a fluid motion, attempting a strike at Peter's neck.

"Harry and I were waiting for him to make a move first." Peter ducked the swipe from Matthew. "Weren't sure what else we could do, how to do after him. Worried that if we did we might get in over our heads again."

"I understand." Matthew countered a blow from Peter with a spar that knocked the staff out of Peter's hands. "I have to watch my steps as well. Fisk exerts a great deal of influence; caution does not go amiss. However, there is a sense of urgency involved, particularly given some new information I've gathered in the last few days."

"What is it?" He took the moment's respite to wipe the sweat off of his forehead with the back of his hand.

"There's some indication that Fisk might be involving children."

"_What?_" Peter's eyebrows furrowed and the corners of his mouth were taut. At his side, his hand tightened reflexively into a fist

"I haven't gotten much more than shreds of information. But I've heard he's got this boy; they ostensibly share a last name and he might be training him as a successor."

"But you don't think the kid is his?" He picked up the fallen staff with a sharp motion and they started again.

"His wife's been in a coma for the better part of a decade and, as far as I know, infidelity does not count among his many crimes."

"Then what? Kidnapping?" He came at Matthew with a fierce, reckless thrust.

"I wouldn't put it past him. Find a kid with 'potential,' raise him to be on his side - you couldn't ask for a better enforcer than a devoted child." Matthew parried then landed a kick.

"Unless of course the kid bites the hand that feeds him," Peter stood up and poised himself for an attack. "That or ends up managing to develop a sense of decency regardless, like Harry did."

"Kingpin isn't a fool; he knows how to cultivate and maintain loyalty, one way or another. It's what makes investigating him so hard. Most of what I get is through my own personal spying and observation."

"How do you manage that?"

"Good old fashioned risky, sleep-depriving legwork; sometimes the old methods are the best."

"Harry might disagree - he's always had a fondness for technology. And I admit that I've started to rely on things like police radios of late. I know what you mean though - there's no substitute for hitting the streets, going out on patrol." He wiped off his forehead. "So, I've got about an hour left - what else should be do?"

"How about reviewing wrestling and subduing techniques?"

"Lead the way."

_OOO_

Coming home from his meeting, Harry felt frustrated. Board meetings were at their best boring and stifling, at their worst unbearably irritating and provoking. The in-fighting between departments was tiring, marketing and research were eternally at odds about how far to push the experimental envelope, everybody felt like their department was underfunded, when things went wrong nobody wanted to shoulder the blame and most of the meetings ended with little to nothing resolved, despite several hours of going back and forth. There were days he felt like he couldn't blame his dad for wanting to kill the lot of them. Their haughty, insipid attitudes would be enough to push even good-natured Peter over the edge.

Strapping on his armor, he figured that an evening patrol would be precisely what he needed to work out some of his frustration. He knew he should be working on Warren's portrait, finishing it up, but there was something about patrolling that was irresistible after being cooped up in a meeting for so long.

Going up to the roof, he launched into the air and felt the instant thrill of soaring, swooping down between buildings on the Sky Stick. A rush of adrenaline flowed through his veins, releasing the tension in his muscles and giving him a heady sense of pleasure. For a few brief moments, he simply indulged and enjoyed the sensation of being up here and free, far away from the troubles that plagued him on the ground, miles from the suit-wearing world of his father's that he'd been bound to.

Peter often described similar experiences, talked about the ways in which being Spider-Man was a release, how the confidence and freedom of a different persona could be enticing. But as much as he related the feeling, there was nothing quite like recapturing it for oneself.

Directing the board back downwards, Harry started to scan the street for activity, turning on the police radio he'd managed to build into his gear. There were only a few minor incidents, nothing that Viridian couldn't take care of, he thought with confidence.

He wrapped up a situation with a couple of thugs at a bodega and finished sorting out a drug deal gone bad when his nostrils caught the scent of smoke. He turned and saw a tenement in the distance, a few blocks down, a haze of smoke billowing from it's windows. By the time he'd gotten over, flames were already eating away at the roof.

One more good deed for the night, Harry thought with a grin, and then it was back home for him. He made sure to adjust his mask with the filters in place; Peter had done this several times and warned him profusely about the dangers of smoke inhalation. He was ready for it, though. After all, Peter handled situations like this all of the time. A little house fire was nothing he couldn't handle.

Harry swooped in, hearing the distant cheers from the people below who'd seen him appear, and the familiar rush from earlier returned again. This was what it was all about.

_OOO_

"Did you finish the assignments your tutor gave you, sweetie?" Emma Marko washed a head of lettuce under the spigot while her daughter sat at the table, textbooks open in front of her. The octopus Harry had purchased for Penny over a year ago was sitting atop the books, looking worn and threadbare; she toted it almost everywhere, a cheerful reminder of Harry that kept her company even when things were rough. On Harry and Peter's concurring advice she'd named him Otto; they said it was in memory of a really great man and that was good enough for her.

"Almost, mom. I did all the Spanish and History; I just have a little bit of the math left." She gave the octopus a fond poke before she carefully copied the multiplication problems onto the paper in front of her, working them out step by step. "Teacher says that I'm doing a lot better than I was."

"I know; I'm very proud of you." Her mother gave Penny a smile while she ripped apart the lettuce for a salad.

One Penny was finished, she pushed the books aside and watched her mother slice cucumbers and toss them into the bowl.

"Mom?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think the doctors will ever be able to make me better?" She had Otto in her lap and was playing, making his tentacles dance around.

"Maybe. We'll have to wait and see," Emma told her cautiously; the subject of Penny's disease was a sensitive one.

"I wish I could get better. I wish I could be strong like Peter and Harry and dad."

"Maybe someday," Emma walked over and kissed her. "Want to clean off the table and get out the salad dressing for dinner? I'll set out the plates and take the chicken out of the oven."

"Ok," Penny nodded and began to pack her books away in her Dora backpack.

As she went to put her books away in her room, Emma watched her with a sad smile. Penny was slowly declining, that much was certain. But at least they were in comfort. For once, she thought, Flint managed to make things turn out alright; him and Osborn. Small relief, but it was something - when Penny did pass on, at least it would be in luxury, not in a dingy, flea-ridden apartment.

That, more than any other achievements they might accomplish, made Harry and Flint heroes in her eyes.

_OOO_

By the time Peter got home from Matthew's it was already rather late; Bernard informed him that Harry had been home, but he'd left again to patrol for the evening. He should be back later, though, if Peter wanted to stay up.

Peter remained awake for a while, making a pasta dinner for Aunt May and himself and playing a few games of checkers with her before going back to his room to get some of Dr. Connors' homework done. After he was done putting the finishing touches on his lab report, he moved on to reworking the formula for Penny. A little more tweaking and they would test it on another round of mice, see how far they'd come. Despite the sense of urgency that motivated his labor, Peter felt his eyes falling shut involuntarily. The minutes had ticked by and it was midnight sooner than he realized. Peter was feeling exhausted and mildly achy from shoulder to toe; he supposed it was the workout from earlier that had tired him.

Changing into an undershirt and a pair of loose pajama pants, he slipped into Harry's bed to wait for him, thinking it would be a pleasant surprise for his boyfriend. He drifted off and was unaware of how much time passed until Harry woke him over an hour later.

He couldn't even see Harry at first; all he heard was a banging down the hallway, the sound of Harry's armor hitting the floor with dull thuds and metallic clangs. Peter sat up and quirked his head to the side; Harry was usually pretty quiet when he got back in late - he didn't want to wake up Peter if he was sleeping, or anybody else for that matter. All went silent for a long while and Peter wondered where Harry could have gone. Then he heard the sound of shattering glass resounding through the penthouse.

Leaping out of bed, Peter ran down the hall and into the great room where Harry was standing, barefoot, his torso undressed to a black, sweat-drenched muscle shirt he wore beneath his armored chest plate, rising up and down as he panted for breath. He was still wearing the pants he wore as Viridian and his face was streaked with ash. When Peter drew closer, he saw Harry's damp curls fell across his face, blowing slightly in the wind that was howling through the smashed bay windows.

"Harry? What the hell happened?" He walked up to him and put his hand on Harry's shoulder, but Harry shrugged it off, staring out into the night all the while. Peter looked through the glass splinters and saw a bottle on the balcony. Only then did he notice that Harry's breath smelled heavily of liquor. Looking at his face he noticed that Harry's eyes were red-rimmed and his skin raw and scorched. "Harry? You want to get cleaned up?" Peter suggested and a timid voice.

"Fuck," Harry snapped and turned away from the window. He reached under the marble bar at the other end of the room, pulled out a bottle of Courvoisier and started swilling it. "Fuck!" He gasped and shook his head as if trying to clear his mind, before putting the bottle to his lips again.

"Harry!" Peter shouted and stormed over, yanking the bottle out of his hands. "Harry, I think you've had enough," he admonished.

Harry regarded him for a second before reaching under and pulling out a bottle of tequila. Peter used a line of webbing to yank that away as well and Harry sighed in frustration.

"Fuck it," he muttered. "I'm going to bed. Little shit deserved it anyway," he muttered.

"Harry, tell me what happened." Peter set the bottles down on the counter and caught up to Harry's retreating form. "Please. Don't shut me out. Tell me."

"I'm tired!" Harry shouted. "That's all! Can't I get some sleep?"

"Harry..."

"Don't lecture me Pete!" Sitting on the edge of the bed he worked the pants off and tossed them into a corner of the room. "I'm in no mood."

Peter sat down on the bed next to him and reached over, sweeping Harry's hair away from his face and tucking the wavy strands behind his ear.

"At least let me help you get cleaned up?" Peter pleaded. "You'll feel worse in the morning if you don't treat those burns now. And trust me, a bath will help."

"No, Pete, really," Harry looked away. "I just want to get to sleep. I'm exhausted. _Really_."

"Trust me. You trust me don't you?"

"Peter..."

"Come on," he coaxed softly. "And you don't have to tell me anything. OK?" He kissed Harry's temple then stood and offered him a hand.

Harry looked up, then gave Peter a rueful smile. "You don't take 'no' for an answer do you?" Harry grasped the hand and stood up.

Peter gave him a small smile. "I'll start running the water and get the medical supplies. You just take it easy for a moment; I'll be right back."

Though his mind was alight with suspicion and conjectures about what might have happened, Peter wondered what Harry had really been through; yet, he concluded, Harry had kept his distance and respected Peter's wishes when he'd needed it. What else could he do but extend Harry the same courtesy?

_OOO_

A/N: Sorry for the delay - but more will be up, soon. Again, many thanks to my beta MarronSunshine, and I'm open to comments, criticism and whatever else you have to offer.


	36. Fire and Pain

_OOO_

Harry winced as Peter daubed his face off with a cool, damp washcloth, so Peter lowered it, the corners of his eyes creasing with concern.

"Am I hurting you?"

"It's nothing," Harry shrugged, sitting up a little straighter on the edge of the tub. "Stings a bit, but that's it. Keep going."

"Alright." He lifted the cloth back up and resumed washing. "I just want to get the worst of the grime off." He continued to work for nearly half an hour, pressing the cool cloth against the damaged skin and wiping off the smears of dirt and sweat, before setting the cloth aside and reaching for a bottle of lotion. He screwed the top off, squeezed a little out onto his palms and started to daub it on Harry's face.

"What's in this stuff anyway?" Harry inquired as he tilted his head to the side so Peter could slather more on.

"A recipe Matthew gave me. It's got an antibiotic in it as well as a local so that your face won't hurt like hell in the morning. Work's pretty well on limbs; can't speak about the face though."

"It's already starting to feel better. Does my face look burnt?"

"Not very; the parts that were exposed by your mask are the worst - verging on second degree, a bit of blistering. Everything else is first degree, not much worse than a sunburn if that." He applied a little more to Harry's forehead. "You should be fine."

"This is nothing compared to a bomb, right?" Harry smirked but his face fell when Peter looked mortified. "Sorry, buddy. I didn't mean anything by it."

"It's OK." Peter wiped his hands off then turned back to Harry and kissed him softly on the lips. "At least your gear protected those."

"Yeah," Harry sighed. "That and not much else." He stood and pulled his shirt off as Peter turned on the water. "I suppose you still want to know what happened?"

"You don't have to tell me Harry. Not unless you want to." He turned around to find Harry's boxers down around his ankles, his bare, muscled back facing Peter. "Sorry," Peter blushed madly. "I'll leave."

"No need," Harry shrugged, at ease as he stepped into the tub, letting the water flow over his skin, swirling around the scars in his chest. "You know what I look like naked." He smiled. "Besides, maybe I like you looking." Peter's blushed deepened and Harry tried not to laugh. He gestured towards the bathroom rug. "Sit."

"You're in a better mood," Peter ventured a smile.

"I guess," he sighed. "As long as I'm numb with booze and don't think about anything too much. Feels like I'm running off adrenaline and if I stop everything is going to collapse." He sank deeper into the water then looked over. "Peter?"

"Yeah?"

"You ever wanted to blame a victim?"

"What do you mean?" Peter studied Harry's face.

"Tonight... tonight I lost somebody." He leaned back and looked up at the ceiling. "A kid, couldn't have been older than Penny. Seven, eight probably." He strained to sound detached.

"Oh God Harry... Harry, I'm so sorry." He took Harry's hand, which had been dangling over the side of the tub in his own. A thousand platitudes about how Harry did his best and how all heroes lost people were on the tip of his tongue, but Peter stifled them for the moment.

"There was a fire. One of those damn tenement buildings - not kept to code, over-crowded - crumbling fire hazards, the lot of them. Some people got out. A lot hadn't. And I was trying to save them. So I get to this apartment at the end of the hall and by then the heat is scorching. Fire department's there, but it's all they can do to keep it from spreading to other buildings." Harry was facing front by then, as if he could still see the events unfolding.

"I break the door in and there's three kids there, this girl clutching a baby and the boy. I tell them to get on, take the baby from the girl and she and the boy cling to me. The Sky Stick lifts off and I'm about to get us all the hell out of there when the boy jumps down and runs off. He goes into another room screaming about not leaving some fucking transforming truck or some shit like that!" His voice grew louder and indignant.

"What was I supposed to do Peter?" His eyes flashed as he looked at his partner. "What the fuck should I have done? The other two were crying and breathing in smoke, the building was about to come down at any second, the fire was spreading, I wasn't sure if it was even structurally sound to follow him in..." He gestured wildly, his muscles tensed and his voice nearly a shriek. Taking a deep breath, he allowed his hands to drop back into the warm water of the bath with a splash. "I just don't fucking know anymore."

"So that's what you meant earlier," Peter said quietly. "When you said it was his fault."

"I mean, don't they teach these kids any fucking _sense _in school? That when there's a fire you get the hell out? That you can always buy another toy but you die of smoke inhalation or burns or shit like that?" He shook his head and looked down into the water. "I came back. As quickly as I could. The roof was caving in, the whole place was filled with smoke, I could barely see or navigate... His body was on the floor, clutching the toy. I brought him to the paramedics as quickly as I could fly but by then it was too late. He was dead before they ever touched him."

"You did what you could, Harry," Peter reasoned, keeping his voice level, reciting what he felt he should without knowing how much would sink in or help. "You saved the other two; if you hadn't, all of you might have died."

"What kind of hero am I?" He demanded. "That I can't even keep a grip on a seven-year-old kid? What kind of _person _am I that I get pissed off about what he did, so mad that he didn't know any better, that I go blaming him when he's fucking dead!"

"You're only human Harry - that's all any of us are. You... you can't save everybody." He looked at Harry, his eyes hinting at past hurts. "I know. You try as hard as you can to save as many as you can. But sometimes, things happen. Beyond your control. And you _have_ to move on. Think about it too much and it will drive you out of your mind."

"On the bridge with my father and MJ and those kids - it looked hopeless, but you managed! You managed and saved everybody, except my dad who fucking got what he deserved - and here I am, can't even handle a stupid house fire."

"That was _luck_, Harry. Anything different and I might be dead, MJ might be dead - anything. And I have lost people in fires - not getting there fast enough, not moving quickly enough... trust me, Harry, I know. It happens. It hurts. But you have to accept it."

"I was right there, Peter. _Right there._ He was on my board, right within my reach. All we had to do was fly off. Another minute or two..."

"I know, I know. But that's... that's just the way things turn out."

"No!" He punched the bathroom marble with a slick hand, sending water droplets flying. "I went into this to save people!'

"You did. But Harry, there's a _limit_. Saving everybody – it's just impossible. This doesn't negate anything you've done. It doesn't mean you're at fault."

"I let him down," Harry insisted. "That little boy - he didn't know any better. I should have been there, grabbed him, _made_ him leave. _I_ was the adult - _I_should have done something! And when I didn't all I could think was that it was his fault, that the little shit should have listened and held on." He closed his eyes and massaged them with one hand for a moment. "Tell me it gets better, Pete," he pleaded. "Tell me it doesn't hurt so much, that it eases up and the guilt and the anger and the pain goes away..."

"A little. But not completely," he admitted. "And maybe that's a good thing. A little pain over each person lost - it's what keeps the people we help human. So it still matters if we help or not. That it's not just some numbers game, people helped versus people let down, notched up in some mental column.

"You learn not to beat yourself up over it, though. You mourn and move on. Because you have to. If you don't..."

"Yeah, yeah. You told me before. It all falls apart," Harry sighed. "Damn it! It's so... so _frustrating!_"

"I know."

Standing in the tub and reaching for a towel, Harry shook his head. "I need sleep," he moaned. "If I stay awake and think about this a second longer, I'm going to collapse."

"You want me to stay with you or in my own room?"

He paused, considering, then nodded. "Stay with me." He pulled on fresh boxers before going into the bedroom and sliding under the covers.

Peter followed him out; Harry was on his side facing right, so Peter slid in behind him and cuddled closely, snaking his hands around Harry's waist, his chest warming Harry's damp back.

"It's OK to be upset, Harry," he whispered.

"Right now? I just feel numb," he replied.

Peter kissed his shoulder, his eyes closed. "That's OK too."

_OOO_

There were a lot of things about his life that Benjamin didn't understand.

He didn't understand what was happening when the big man in the white coat explained that his last name was going to be Fisk from now on. He didn't understand why he didn't see his sister or dad anymore; but that was OK, because sometimes they hurt him. Many times, in fact. He didn't understand what the machines were that the man in white was always showing him. He didn't understand why he had extra lessons and why when he had to do practice drills, he did them alone.

What he didn't understand, however, was insignificant compared to what he didn't know. Ben knew his world was small, to be sure. Yet that didn't prevent a sneaking sensation in the back of his mind that there was more. There had to be, he just didn't know what.

And when it came to what he didn't know or understand, nobody made any move to explain. He didn't dare ask, but he wished somebody would, more than anything else. Nobody did though and nobody probably ever would, which upset him most of all.

Because of all the things he couldn't understand, the one that puzzled him the most was why nobody loved him.

_OOO_

"Oh come on! We only have a few more months of this! This is the third night in a row you've shut me down, MJ."

"I spent half the day puking thanks to you," she glared at Johnny. "I'm not in the mood!"

"Preggo sex is so hot though..."

"Then find yourself a pregnant hooker!" She thundered. "I'm sure they're out there!"

"Don't be this way," Johnny pleaded. "Come on."

"I look like a whale!" She sobbed as she caught sight of herself in a hallway mirror.

"No, you look _slamming_."

"What do you know?" She narrowed her eyes at him before stomping off to the bedroom. "You just want to screw!"

"What's wrong with that?" He followed her in and was hit in the face with her shirt. He pulled it off as quickly as he could but she was already in a nightie.

"I look hideous," MJ laid on her back and covered her face with a pillow, sobbing into it.

"Baby..." He sat on the bed next to her and rubbed her leg. "Can't I convince you that you still look totally hot?" He shrugged. "Hell, even if I just met you I'd still want to do you."

"Real sweet Johnny," she snapped, her voice muffled by the pillow.

"Seriously!"

She moved the pillow down slightly, its slipcover stained with mascara and foundation. "Johnny?"

"Yeah, Ginger-boo?"

"I want cookie dough ice cream with prosciutto on top."

"_What?!_"

"You heard me." She set her jaw.

"It's after midnight!"

"And there aren't all night groceries in New York City?" She tossed the pillow aside, her face looking like hell from how the make-up smeared. "If you're awake enough for sex, you're awake enough to get me ice cream with ham!"

"Fine, fine!" He sprang out of bed, lifting his hands in a defensive gesture. "I'll be back in a bit!"

He went out onto their bedroom balcony, flamed on and flew off.

"Women..." he groaned as he burned across the sky.

Only once he'd bought the food did he pause to consider that flying hadn't been such a good idea; if he'd taken a car he could have driven back, but now he had to take a cab since flaming on would have melted the ice cream and probably burnt up the prosciutto to boot. Twenty minutes later, the cab pulled up in front of his building and he took the elevator up, tapping his foot all the while.

As he opened the door to their bedroom, he held up the small bag of groceries, only to drop it immediately.

"MJ!" She lifted her head to look at him as she crouched by the side of the bed, her face glistening with sweat, a puddle of vomit pooled on the floor.

"Something's wrong with the baby," she managed.

"What? What's wrong?" Johnny ran over, hysteria building. "Should I call 911? The ob-gyn? What do I need to do?"

"It's hot inside..." She winced, and then doubled over again.

"Damn it," Johnny grabbed his iPhone from the nightstand and frantically tapped the numbers in, cursing under his breath. "Yeah, an emergency. My girlfriend's pregnant and something's really wrong. What? No, she just says it's hot. She's sweating a lot... The apartment's 74 degrees! Look, just send an ambulance. She's only a few months in, she's not having the freaking baby and I'm not overreacting!" He shouted the address into the phone. "Now get your asses here quickly or I'm suing the fucking city!"

He snapped the phone shut then knelt beside MJ.

"It's gonna be fine, just hang on, 'k? Can you do that? Please, MJ?"

He only hoped she could hear him.

Hours later, when her eyes fluttered open, she saw Johnny sitting next to her.

"MJ!" His face burst into a grin. "I knew you'd pull through kiddo! I knew it!"

"Unh..." She pressed her hand to her forehead. "What happened? The last thing I remembered was something about ice cream..."

"It's the baby. It was me. It's... Fuck, MJ, I'm so sorry. I didn't think anything like this would happen, I would have taken precautions if I did. Had it checked out sooner."

"What are you talking about?"

"The doc can probably explain it better than I can. But what it is.. well... the kid, MJ. The kid has powers, like me. And they started acting up, basically."

"What?"

"I mean, the fetus wasn't, like, on fire, or anything. But... well... it was experiencing accelerating temperature." He swallowed, looking at his hands miserably. "You're sedated now. You both are. But it could happen again." His blue eyes brimmed with tears, one of the first times MJ had ever seen them to. "If we don't do something about it, you could immolate from the inside. The kid has no control and since you're not meta-human, your body can't withstand it."

"Is there anything we can do?" She whispered. "Besides 24-7 sedation?"

"There is one thing," Johnny sighed and took a card out of his pocket. "You remember that flap a while back about 'curing' mutants?"

"Only vaguely. Why?"

"The doc said that the company that made that drug, Worthington Industries, was looking into retooling it for more temporary purposes. In this case, to suppress the powers of a child or a mother so they can get through a pregnancy safely. In case the nature of their powers make them a danger to each other. He used some example... a girl who can dematerialize but would damage the kid if she did so while pregnant. That kind of thing."

"And he thinks this drug will help?"

"It might... but it's in the experimental stages. It's a risk. And it's not something just anybody would have access to, you see. I mean, doing something to a human subject before it's out of the test stage..."

"This might be my only chance though!" MJ looked at him, pleading. "We have to try it!"

"Then we're going to have to talk to this guy." He passed her the card he'd been holding. "Warren Worthington III, the head of the company and the one in charge of it's experimental division. He's a mutant so he might be sympathetic."

"I sure hope so," MJ sighed. "Seeing as I want this kid but would rather not be boiled from the inside out."

"Don't worry," Johnny forced a smirk. "Who could say 'no' to your face?"

His layer of bravado was thin, but she appreciated it nonetheless and motioned him over to kiss her.

"Thank you," she murmured when their lips parted.

"Any time baby. Any time. Besides, I need to get you feeling better so we can get back to doing the horizontal tango."

She slapped him but he smiled; after all, she didn't mean it, not really.

_OOO_

A/N: Another day, another chapter. Next chapter will have more of Warren, obviously, as well as few more hopefully interesting developments. Thanks for reading and, as always, I appreciate your input very much, and would be most thankful for a review. :) _  
_


	37. Private Lives

_OOO_

When Peter woke up the next morning, he found that Harry had already left. He stepped out into the hallway and, catching the faint scent of coffee, went to the kitchen. Harry stood over the stove, stirring something in a pan. 

"Smells good; what is it?" Peter poured himself a cup of the freshly percolated coffee.

"Scrambled eggs with salsa. Want any toast?" He pointed to a bag of bread sitting on the counter with the spoon he was stirring the eggs with. "I picked up a loaf of whole grain from this little artesan bakery a few streets over. It's really good."

"Ok, I'll try it." Peter dropped a few slices into the toaster as Harry scooped the eggs onto plates. "Thought you had work today. Shouldn't you have left by now?"

"Took the day off." He set the plates down, one at each setting, and stabbed the eggs with his fork. "I'm way too wrung out after last night. Freaking emotional roller coaster. I need a day to relax, maybe get a little of Warren's portrait done."

"I've been meaning to ask you about that. How's it coming along?"

"Not too bad." He chewed a mouthful of eggs then stood to pour a glass of orange juice. "I've gotten the sketch layer done and I'm starting to fill in some of the base colors. Don't want to say anything too soon, but I think it will turn out pretty well. Fairy satisfied with it so far."

"That's great," Peter smiled. "I'm glad to see you're doing better."

"I'm still thinking about it. Hard not to. But your advice helped a lot." He took a swig of juice. "That and whatever it was you put on my face. Doesn't hurt nearly as badly as it would have."

"Good to know. But actually I was referring to the painting." Peter took a bite of the egg concoction. "You really love it, don't you?"

"Well yeah, I guess. It relaxes me." 

"You've been doing a lot more of it. Other stuff too - activities you really enjoy. Cooking, painting, watching sports..." 

"Point being?" Harry scraped the last of the scrambled eggs off his plate.

"I remember you - before. When you weren't obsessed with finding out my identity, you were obsessed with work." Peter set his plate and mug in the sink. "But now you're starting to do what you _really _enjoy instead of trying to be who you aren't to impress other people." 

"So you're saying I should quit my day job and open an art gallery?" Harry quirked an eyebrow.

"Maybe." Peter leaned over and kissed his cheek. "But while you might have bailed on work, I've got to show up to class. I'm going to get ready - I'll see you later."

"Later." Harry twisted around and they kissed again, a quick brush of the lips. Peter returned to their room while Harry rinsed the plates and loaded them into the dishwasher, before getting ready to paint.

Peter might have to be presentable, but as far as Harry was concerned, he wasn't getting out of his t-shirt and lounge pants.

_OOO_

"Mr. Storm and Ms. Watson!" Warren jumped up from behind his desk the moment his secretary admitted Johnny and Mary Jane. Shaking their hands enthusiastically, he grinned like meeting them made his decade. "It's great to see you, I'm so glad you came down."

"We should be grateful to you." Johnny pulled out a chair and MJ lowered herself into it carefully. "You might be our last option."

"Yeah... I got the file from the hospital that you had them send over." He sat behind his desk, opened up a manila folder and flipped through the papers inside. "You're a meta-human, not a mutant, but the radiation affected your DNA in a way not dissimilar to an organic mutation."

"What does that mean?" Johnny pulled his chair closer to the desk. "Does that mean you can't help us?"

"It means we might be able to." Warren set the folder down and looked Johnny in the eye. "We'd have to test a dose of the suppression medication out on you first, to see if it has any effect. It won't last long," he assured him. "A small dose - should only be in your system for an hour or two. But it is a risk and certainly nothing I'm going to do without your explicit consent and full awareness of what you're getting into. No matter what, there's always the possibility something could go wrong."

"Like me losing my powers." Johnny retorted. "Permanently." 

"Worst case scenario? Yes." Warren folded his hands. "I won't sugar-coat this. It is a risk - you're not _precisely _a mutant and even then, we've only used the new formulation for a limited amount of time on a fairly small group of mutants. There haven't been any severe side effects yet, but that might be a product of the restricted population who have tested it thus far."

"I understand."

"Do you? Fully?"

"I read the stuff you sent over. I know what could happen." He looked over at MJ. "But I also know that if there's any chance of me saving my fiancee and kid, I'm going to take it, and when it comes to risk I'll put myself first before laying either of them on the line."

"I admire you for that." He slid the waivers across, on which Johnny scribbled his signature, followed by Mary Jane. "Now, as I understand the situation, we're on a tight time frame - your wife could experience another incident at any time. Might I suggest we head down to the lab immediately?"

"The sooner the better." Johnny stood and started for the door, before getting distracted by a picture sitting on one of the bookshelves that lined the office. "Hey! I didn't know you knew Harry and Peter." 

Warren picked up the framed shot, an image of Spider-Man in mid-swing, flanked by Viridian on his left. The words 'To Warren - keep fighting the good fight' were scrawled on it, followed by two signatures identifying the men in the picture.

"Peter got this for me. I went over to Mr. Osborn's place to have my portrait done and Peter was there to take stills for him to work off of. I asked Peter if he could relay a request to Spider-Man for this as a courtesy - superhero to superhero, if that doesn't sound to pretentious - since Spidey's been a big inspiration for me - and he pulled though." He paused and frowned. "Harry's not a photographer though. Why'd this make you think of him?"

"You mean you don't know that they're..."

"Such good friends!" MJ interrupted, giving Johnny a slight kick that made him wince. "We've been friends since high school, Peter, Harry and I. We just figured that since you and Harry travel in the same circle, he must have been the one who helped you contact Peter to get that photo."

"Yeah, something like that. I'll tell you, Harry Osborn's a really great guy. He's doing my portrait with my wings out, you know. Nice to find somebody who'll help me display and be proud of my mutation instead of having to hide it all the time. I mean, I do have to keep them in for everyday purposes, else I'd be knocking stuff off the wall right and left." He replaced the picture and looked at the couple with a grin. "But it's hard to find an artist willing to do that. I didn't even know he painted, actually, not until Professor Xavier told me about an amazing picture he did of Spider-Man.

"Guess Peter lent him photos for that one too."

"More like posed for it," Johnny muttered under his breath and MJ smashed his toes with her Manolo Blahnik.

"So you liked them?" MJ tried to shift the conversation before Warren could figure out what Johnny had said.

"Oh yeah. Really friendly, both of them. Didn't know they were such close friends with each other, though - high school you said?"

Johnny nearly laughed out loud but stifled it at a glare from MJ.

"Yes, high school," she faced Warren with a smile. "Had a bit of a falling out after Harry's father died, but they've got it patched up now."

"Well that's fantastic," Warren grinned then glanced at Johnny and laughed. "No pun intended. Now come on, let's get down to the lab."

As Warren led the way, Johnny held back with Mary Jane, smirking and leaning in towards her.

"This guy is dumber than a sack of rocks."

"And you're unbelievably insensitive and careless! Hasn't it ever dawned on you that the whole world isn't supposed to know their personal business?" 

"About what? Their alter-egos or their being boyfriends?"

"Both!" MJ hissed. "They'll tell him when the time is right, _if _they want to."

"I mean, how can he _not _see it? What, he just thought it was an accident that Peter was there? That Peter came over to take pictures and brought his life's belongings with him?"

"I'm sure they didn't let him go traipsing through the house. And depending on how Harry introduced him, Warren would have no reason to assume anything."

"Sure he wouldn't - if he's got no gaydar whatsoever. Seeing those two in a room together is like watching newlyweds, always taking peeks at each other, blushing, brushing up against each other... it's almost nauseating." 

"That's because you're a sex hound with no sense of romance. I think it's sweet," she retorted airily.

"Yeah, but you prefer me," he smirked and she blushed. "But besides that - a guy who takes pictures of Spider-Man hangs out with a guy who owns a tech company and it's a coincidence that he knows Spider-Man and Viridian, who are of similar body builds, well enough to get a signed photo? Even I can connect those dots!"

"Well aren't you special," she snapped.

"We're here!" Warren, a few dozen yards in front of them, turned around and swung a door open. "Right this way if you will."

"This had better work..." Johnny groaned.

"Oh it had better," MJ replied in his ear. "Or you'll be getting to know Harry and Peter even better than before, when they come to knock your lights out for putting me in this position."

"Great. I can't wait." He sat down and began rolling up his sleeve. "Might as well get this over with."

"Indeed," Warren agreed, washing his hands then prepping a syringe with a bottle of the medication that he'd taken out of a cold storage unit. "Ready?" He asked a final time as the needle hovered above Johnny's skin.

"As I'll ever be."

Warren pressed, injected the contents into his vein and then nervously waiting for the medication to take effect.

_OOO _

Peter made his way home in a decidedly good mood; his lab results had meshed fairly well with the way Dr. Connors said they ought to turn out, he had gotten back an organic chemistry test with a 96 score on it, Jameson had appreciated his latest shots and the only appearance Spider-Man had made all day was to stop a couple teens ripping CD players out of cars.

As he made his way to the subway entrance, he passed the looming Virgin Megastore and paused thoughtfully; there were a few new releases coming out and Harry had mentioned a desire to see a couple of them. Taking a short detour, he went inside and began looking at the DVDs in the 'new releases' display, reading the back of the _Knocked Up _box.

The entertainment system Harry had was unbelievable, so watching DVDs with him at home was almost as good as being in a theater - maybe even better since it was always quiet and they could eat whatever food they liked without paying ridiculous prices or having to sneak it in. But while Peter flipped through the other DVDs on display, he had to admit that it irked him, not that they watched movies at home but that they almost _had _to. 

Despite Harry's frustration and protests to the contrary, Peter was very much aware of and nervous about the difficulties that their relationship to cause. Unfortunately that meant keeping a friendly distance in public, when they were seen together at all, and making sure to avoid any and all displays of affection that would even hint at the true nature of their closeness.

Going to the movies and sitting in the dark together, it was too tempting to cuddle up to Harry, to allow Harry to drape his arm across Peter's shoulders like they did when they were at home. And while Harry might respond to the question of 'what if people see' with a defiant 'let them,' Peter wasn't willing to accept the guilt he was sure would come if a scandal ever broke.

Bad enough he could be seen slipping in and out of the penthouse every day. Bad enough that Harry occasionally would not be opposed on the issue of dining out with Peter alone in restaurants whose atmospheres oozed romantic. Anything more and surely, even though Harry was only a CEO and not precisely a celebrity in the vein of Johnny, somebody would notice and make a big deal of it.

Peter finally picked a movie and headed towards the checkout with it. As he handed the girl the money for it, he smiled ruefully. He knew what his responsibilities were, how he ought to behave in the best interests of both of them.

But he admitted internally that every now and again, he ached to embrace Harry in public, to kiss him and let the world know that this was the one he loved, that they were everything to each other and not ashamed to show it.

As always, however, responsibility came first for Peter Parker. So he headed home on the subway, back to the penthouse where they would spend the night behind closed doors.

_OOO_

With a basketball game providing noise in the background, Penny sat on the couch and carelessly tossed Otto up and down in the air, catching him each time her hands. As one of the Celtic players made a dunk, she launched him into the air again, only this time he didn't come down. Instead, a massive sandy hand slid beneath the octopus and it landed on that with a muted thump.

"Daddy!" Penny gasped and turned around.

"Hey sweetie." Flint gave her a smile. "Daddy's got the night off." He came around and hugged her. She returned the hug fiercely and he smiled more broadly. "What are you watching?"

"The Celtic-Knicks preseason game." She drew back and smiled. "But we can do something else."

"Sure thing, Penny. Anything you want."

"How about Scrabble? Or Clue?"

"How about both?" Flint winked. "I'll get the boards, you just wait here."

From the doorway, Emma watched them and smiled to herself. Flint had really turned things around, and it was good to see him being a responsible, caring father, even if he was a bit 'unique' to say the least. Then Flint turned around and waved her over as he was setting up the game, spreading out the wooden letter tiles. Emma sat down on the floor by the coffee table and joined them, making the family complete again, at least for the moment. 

_OOO_


	38. Getting Closer

_OOO_

"So you stayed in that all day?" Peter gave Harry an amused look when he met him at the elevator, still wearing the same outfit he wore that morning only with paint smudges all over it.

"You just wish you could go to school in your pajamas," he replied, before leaning in to kiss Peter.

Peter deepened the kiss, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply. When Harry finally broke away, he noticed Peter's bemused expression.

"What's with the smile?"

"You smell nice." His eyes opened and he tugged Harry closer. "Like linseed oil."

"It's from the paint."

"I know." He buried his face in Harry's shirt. "I love the scent of it."

"Well then," Harry wrapped his arms around Peter, "I promise I'll never switch to watercolors or tempera."

"Better not." Peter kissed him on the cheek then pulled the DVD he'd purchased earlier out of the plastic bag. "I got something for us to watch tonight."

"Cool. What is it?" 

"Some new movie based on a graphic novel. Gerard Butler and Dominic West are in it I think, but those were the only names I recognized. Lots of killing, guys walking around in their underwear, crazy monsters - sounded like a fun time."

"Sounds likes an afternoon on the job," Harry laughed, taking the DVD from him and glancing at it. "You want to eat first or straight to the entertainment center?"

"I could go for some dinner."

"Nothing's made yet - you want to cook something with me or order in?"

"Whichever you prefer," Peter shrugged, slipping off his backpack and tossing it into the hallway closet as he hung up his jacket.

"I think we'll order, then. I'm still kinda tired." He gestured towards the canvas set up in the corner of the great room. "Want to see how it's coming?"

"Yeah." Peter walked over with him and looked it over. "Is this _it_?" He teased.

"Hey!" Harry punched him in the shoulder. "I've been working on it all day. I barely got beyond the under-painting and his wings."

Peter gazed at the portrait for a long moment; the body was only sketched in, but the wings were well on their way. They took up much of the painting, a magnificent spread with light blue shadowing giving them a ruffled texture. Though they were still in an early stage, already Peter could see that Harry was managing to capture the sense of musculature that lay beneath the feathered appendages.

Even in its early state, it showed a great deal of time and effort; despite his limited artistic sensibilities, Peter recognized it as the work of someone with a passion for what he did.

"Those _are _looking good. Why'd you start on them before the body?" Peter studied the painting as Harry screwed the tops onto tubes of paint and picked up palettes and brushes, taking them into the nearest bathroom to wash them off.

"Have to. The white paint I used for them has less oil than the rest of the paint I'll be using. It's a principle of oil painting - fat over lean. Could you grab the thinner and follow me?"

"Sure." Peter picked up the container. "So what was that fat thing you were talking about?" He inquired, trying to urge on Harry's enthusiasm.

"Fat over lean. It's how you work with oil paints. You see, first you gotta prep the canvas for painting. You outline the picture so you know what you're doing. And then you need to paint in layers, with the layers of paint with the least oil first. This is because the oil sinks down as it dries; if you put the heavy oils down first, your lighter layers are going to crack."

"Makes sense," Peter nodded, standing aside as Harry cleaned the brushes using the thinner, followed by soaping and rinsing them. "I'm guessing a lot of the reasons for what you do go back to basic chemistry." 

"Maybe; but you know how bad I am at that." Harry smirked as he dried the brushes with a few old rags. "And now I've got to wait a couple of days for that to dry and then I can begin on the next layer."

"Well I think it's going to be fantastic." Peter clapped him on the back and squeezed his shoulder.

"Speaking of chemistry and outdoing oneself - how's the formula coming for Penny?" Harry washed the last of the paint smears off of his own hands, his rigorous scrubbing betraying his agitation about the subject. "The sooner she starts healing, the better."

"We should be ready to do another test run. I've already made samples of the formula and loaded them into the chamber." Peter leaned against the wall and began fidgeting with one of the towels hanging off to the side of the sink. "If I've calculated everything correctly, which I may or may not have, given how blindly I'm moving forward on this, then it should be much less psychologically traumatizing and may even provide a bit more of a physical edge. It should also be a little more subtle in its workings and traces of it should disappear from the body more quickly."

"Do you think it's ready to be tried?" Harry lathered his hands again as he looked over at Peter.

"Hard to say; I don't want to commit to anything until we've tried it. Remember the second trial run? I completely messed up on the aggression calculations; the mice were practically foaming at the mouth to tear each other apart. "

"Yeah... but that was when you started. I'm sure you've improved by now."

"Well, we'll see. Maybe test it after dinner?"

"No problem." Harry dried his hands off and went into the great room to get his cell phone off of the desk. "So what do you want to eat? Pizza? Chinese?"

"Chinese sounds good. We can eat it while watching the movie."

"The usual, then?" Harry searched through his phones address book to find the number of their favorite Chinese place.

"Actually, lets skip the Mongolian beef tonight; why don't we try the General Tso's chicken?"

"Can do. A few egg rolls, rangoons, the General Tso's for you and chicken with cashews for me." 

"Get some soup too."

"Wonton or egg drop?"

"Wonton."

"Got it." He hit the button to dial. "I'll just be a second," he whispered as it rang. "If you want to get into something more comfortable, go right ahead."

With a nod, Peter went to his room and switched his button down shirt for an older t-shirt and his jeans for flannel. He re-entered the room just as Harry was hanging up.

"It'll be here in about forty minutes. I'll give Bernard the money and he can take it from the delivery guy since we're both a little under-dressed," he smirked, as if wishing they were even less clothed. "Until it's here, care to start watching the movie?"

"Sure."

Peter buried himself under a throw while Harry talked to his butler then set up the machine, leaving them in darkness and scooting under the blanket with Peter.

"Harry!" Peter glared at him. "You're hogging! There's not enough blanket to cover both of us!"

"Well then you'll just have to get on my lap, won't you?" Harry grabbed Peter by the waist and pulled him onto his lap, rearranging the blanket one Peter as situated on his legs.

"Uhn," Peter grunted as he wiggled around, trying to get comfortable.

"See? Now we both fit under it."

"Harry, I'm going to crush your legs if we sit like this for two hours!" Peter laughed while the previews played.

"Fine," Harry slid him off unceremonious and jumped to his feet. "I'll just get more blankets then." 

Moments later Peter found himself buried under a pile of various fabrics next to an equally buried Harry.

"Enough blanket for you?" Harry grinned as Peter tried to glare. Suddenly, Peter's eyes grew wide.

"Harry!" He gasped. "Harry, what are you doing under there?"

"Nothing," he teased, sliding closer. "You know you've lost a button on your flannel pants."

"I know Harry, they're old, Harry stop that - watch the movie Harry!" Peter tried to scoot away but Harry kept moving with him. Soon they were backed up against the arm of the couch.

"Gotcha now," Harry grinned. He grabbed Peter by the wrists, rubbing little circles around his spinnerets before giving them a quick kiss. At the touch of his flesh, though Peter didn't mean for it to happen, a line of webbing squirted out.

'You're terrible," Peter breathed, feeling Harry's hands move south, working the elastic waistband down.

"What can I say? It's been a long day; I missed you." He gave the flesh between Peter's chin and neck a nip.

"Harry, I was only gone for a few hours; probably less than ten." Peter cast Harry a skeptical glance.

"Exactly." Harry pressed a kiss to Peter's temple then pulled the blankets further around then, diving underneath them as Peter twisted around, trying to see what was on the screen.

"What're you doing down there?" Peter asked suspiciously as he watched a guy get kicked into a pit. He could feel layers of fabric shifting around and looked down when he felt Harry's fingers on his hips. "Having an appetiz-ooooh..."

Feeling like he was melting from the heat of Harry's mouth, Peter bunched the blankets into his fists. His muscles twitched and, in the space of a few minutes, they were underneath all of the blankets in a pile on the floor. Harry rolled them off with a twist of his torso, narrowly missing the coffee table in the process, and Peter, who'd ended up on top, managed to pull Harry's own pants and boxers down around his ankles.

Though he could barely see Harry's face, Peter knew he was grinning. Sliding his hands underneath Harry's t-shirt, Peter lowered himself and pushed into Harry. Harry responded by slowly licking the flesh on Peter's wrists, making a sticky mess of webbing on the quilt that was beneath them. When they eventually finished and worked up enough energy to make it back onto the couch, Peter cuddled into Harry who had a smug expression on his face.

"See? This works out perfectly." He winked. "And the food will be coming in just a bit too, which is good - I don't know about you but I've worked up an appetite."

Peter gave him a light-hearted smack. Bernard came in with the food only a few minutes later and left it, along with plates and utensils, giving the two flushed friends a knowing glance. Satisfied, Peter leaned against Harry as they ate and occasionally fed each other, his mouth curved in a smile.

Not longer after, however, as they watched the movie his expression faded and grew rueful.

"Something wrong?" Harry looked down at him.

"It's nothing," Peter shrugged. "I just... I wish we could do this in public."

"Have sex?" Harry quirked an eyebrow.

"No!" Peter glared. "You know what I mean. Go places. Watch movies. Hold hands. Cuddle."

Harry fell silent for a bit; he knew what Peter would say if he pressed the issue.

"I understand," was all he replied. That did not, however, stop him from ruminating on the matter all through dinner and the rest of the movie and during the cleanup. Peter had fallen asleep while they were watching so Harry decided to forgo waking him up, deciding that they could run any tests in the lab the next day.

He let Peter rest on the couch while he disposed of the empty boxes and took the plates and utensils they'd used to the sink. Then he came back for Peter and, finding him still asleep, picked him up and carried him into their bed. As Peter dozed, Harry looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. Then he went to his drawer, pulled out a fabric tape measure and slipped it around Peter's fourth finger. He made a mental note of the measurement before heading to his computer to do a little research while Peter slept.

He'd had enough of waiting; if concern for Harry's reputation and business was all that was holding Peter back, then Harry decided that he himself would make the first move and show him how little he was worried about it. When the moment was right, he would prove his love to Peter and to the world, and damn Peter's concern and the consequences.

OOO

"Nothing," Johnny sighed as he tried to ignite. "Absolutely nothing." 

"That should wear off in an hour or two; I gave you a fairly low dose." Warren slid off his latex gloves with a snap and disposed of them, along with the needle, in a nearby hazardous waste container.

"What do you plan on giving me?" MJ inquired, still a bit nervous despite Johnny's hopeful results. 

"A seventy two hour dosage," Warren replied as he put on a second pair of gloves and filled a second syringe.

"So I'll have to come back every three days?"

"I know, it's not ideal. But it's the best we can do for now. Would you lift up your shirt please?" Johnny glared at him and Warren rolled his eyes. "Just the bottom, I mean, not the whole shirt. I'm going to inject this directly into her uterus."

"Settle down Johnny," MJ replied as she rolled up the fabric, revealing the bump beneath.

Closing her eyes, she allowed Warren to sterilize the skin and inject her without watching, afraid that if she saw the needle entering she would flinch and twist away. Without even knowing it, she held her breath until Warren spoke again.

"Ok. We're done here." Warren looked up at her. "You should probably stay here an hour or so for observation, just in case anything goes wrong."

"What do I do?" 

"Relax," Warren smiled. "And let me know if anything feels out of place. My schedule's pretty slow today; I can wait with you if you like."

He did; and despite the somewhat creepy, clinical nature of the lab, MJ was quickly feeling much more at ease. They talked about Johnny's new line of extreme sporting equipment and MJ's acting. Warren told them about the new projects he hoped to make, medicines he was looking into developing. They both talked about common acquaintances and the conversation, inevitably, gravitated towards Harry and Peter.

"You know," Warren mentioned. "I'm throwing a big Christmas party. You two are invited, of course; I'll be sure to add you to the invite list. Think Peter would like to come too? As a guest I mean. I've seen him at a few functions as a society page photographer, but I thought a more personal enjoyment might be in order."

"What? Peter? Why?"

"He knows Harry doesn't he? Harry hasn't come in the last couple years, but my father always extended an invitation to the Osborn household. And if Harry knows Peter is coming he might be more likely to attend - you know, the familiarity of a friend and all." Johnny looked away from Warren so that he wouldn't be tempted to laugh, biting the inside of his cheek so hard he could taste blood. "Harry seems like a guy I'd like to know better; so does Peter for that matter. Besides, I owe Peter for the Spider-Man thing and all."

"Well..." MJ cast a sideways glance at Johnny. "I think it's a very nice idea. Peter would be very grateful and I'd love to see him there." 

"Excellent!" He grinned. "Consider it done." 

Sixty minutes elapsed and at the end, Johnny was managing to flame on again and nothing adverse had happened to MJ. Warren bid them farewell, with the promise to see them soon to administer another dose. It was only after MJ and Johnny had left that Warren realized he didn't know Peter's home address. It was no matter, though. He supposed it would be easy enough to look up.

As an extra touch, he figured he would hand deliver it, as a way to be extra friendly. Besides, he considered, if he got to know Peter a little better, he might find out more about Spider-Man - maybe even get to meet him, if he played his cards right.

_OOO_

The next morning, their plans to test the formula were interrupted again, this time by a massive pile-up on one of the bridges going into the city. They responded as quickly as they could; Harry, however seemed to be in over-drive. He put on his outfit more quietly and efficiently than Peter had ever known him to and was in the air almost before Peter could follow him out.

Once at the scene, he was all business as they went around lifting cars off of people, dragging them to safety and putting out all the fires they could. Watching Harry out of the corner of his eye, Peter realized that something was different. There were no snarky comments, no posturing, no showboating - nothing. Not that he'd ever done a lot of that, but everybody had their moments.

Now, however, Harry was all business. He kept going and going, even when his superhuman stamina began to be overwhelmed. Rather than pause, he continued until EMS had the situation well in hand and everybody had been cleared off. 

When they got back to the penthouse, as Harry took off his helmet, Peter saw that his face was still set, his jaw clenched and his eyes intensely focused. Looking up at Peter, his gaze softened and he smiled. Still, the image of him, grave and reserved, stayed with Peter.

It was different for Harry, Peter realized. Being a hero wasn't simply a game he was playing with his best friend and lover. It wasn't a mere rush, getting high off adrenaline while feeling self-satisfied from good deeds done. It wasn't about duty or anger or thrills or praise.

This was business for him now, every bit his job as what he did in the conference room - perhaps even more so.

And that, Peter thought to himself as he showered, was perhaps not such a bad development.

_OOO_


	39. Invitation

OOO

When Flint came back, he found Harry at his computer; his employer was so distracted that he didn't even realize Flint was there until the sand-composed man cleared his nonexistent throat.

"Oh. Hey." He rolled the chair away from the desk. "Didn't notice you there. How was your evening with Penny?"

"Good, real good." Flint nodded and look down at his hands. "Mr. Osborn?" 

"Yes? Something wrong?" He frowned. "It's not Penny, is it?" He felt a cold, sinking feeling burgeon for a moment.

"Naw. Well... yeah. But nothin' bad." He looked up and gestured vaguely. "Emma an' I talked about it a lot. And we... well we wanted to see if you'd be interested in bein' Penny's godfather. Never named on for her and seein' as you've done so much... we'd like you to be it."

Harry smiled and nodded. "I'd be honored." Then, grinning conspiratorially, he waved Flint over to the computer. "Come look at this and tell me what you think." He pointed at the screen.

Flint saw a web site featuring a variety of thick bands with gemstones set in them. A description beneath each indicated the metal the ring was composed of, the stones set it in as well as sundry other information about cuts and shapes that meant little to Flint. All he knew was that they were very expensive and, as the title of the site indicated, for only one purpose.

"Engagement rings?" 

"Yep. I measured Peter's finger while he slept." He put his finger to his lips. "Don't tell him - it's going to be a surprise. Tell me what you think of that one."

He pointed to a particular ring, platinum with a ruby flanked by two sapphires.

"I know diamonds are a little more traditional for an engagement," Harry said, reaching for a mug of coffee next to the mouse, "but I thought he might appreciate it mimicking the colors of his costume."

"It's nice," Flint nodded. "Real nice." Never in his life had Flint seen jewelry so expensive; he knew Harry could afford such items, but even so it was a little mind-boggling. "Don't know a lot 'bout jewelry though," he added.

Harry nodded. "I'm still trying to decide whether I like this one better as an engagement ring or a wedding ring and maybe go with a solitaire for the engagement." He smirked and sipped his coffee. "I'd get him a custom one with a webbing pattern but that might be giving away a bit _too _much."

"I think," Flint said after a pause to consider. "That he'll be happy with whatever you give him."

After another sip, Harry leaned back in his leather chair. "Yeah. I know. But I want to make this special for him. You know what I mean? Make it memorable. Wonderful. But not ostentatious," he sighed, sitting up again. "Want to avoid ostentatious." He clicked a few more times. "Maybe I will go with a simple band and diamond."

Flint gave him a small smile. "I'll leave you to your browsing then and get back to guarding. And - thanks. For all you're doing for Penny." 

"I do what I can," Harry replied with a modest shrug. _But it's still not enough_, he thought to himself. 

More than anything else, more than any other goal he could achieve, he wanted to save that little girl who'd done so much for and meant so much to all of them. If he could... the cut would be deep, there was no doubt about it.

He wasn't sure what he'd do if they lost her.

OOO

Having looked up Peter's address in a phone book, Warren made his way to a part of the city he was distinctly unfamiliar with. Everything around seemed run down and dirty; it frankly surprised him that Peter lived in a place like that, especially when he had friends like Harry. Then again, perhaps he wasn't comfortable taking gifts. Warren bit his lip nervously as he pulled into a metered parking space and hoped he was doing the right thing.

After dropping a few coins into the meter, he made his way inside after getting buzzed in by what sounded like a young girl. When he entered, he saw the girl in question at the top of the steps.

"Hey!" He grinned and waved. "Like I said - I'm looking for Peter Parker. Is he here?" 

The girl timidly shook her head no. "I'm sorry," she said. "His mail comes here but he isn't here." She held a plate out to Warren. "Would you like a cookie? I just made them."

"Sure." He made his way up the steps and grabbed one. "Wow! Snickerdoodles." He smiled even more broadly. "I love these things. So Peter isn't here now or ever or what?"

"Oh he moved out. With that boy. He just gets his mail here. Would you like a glass of milk?" She set the cookies down on the railing of the landing.

"That sounds good. But - what boy? Are you saying he pays for the apartment but doesn't actually live in it?" Warren looked supremely confused as Ursula handed him a glass of milk. "Oh, I'm Warren, by the by," he said, shaking her hand vigorously after taking a swig of milk.

"Ursula. Yeah, Peter comes by every now and again and picks up his mail. Sometimes the curly-haired boy is with him, sometimes not." A quizzical look crossed her face. "He used to go out with Mary Jane but I think he's with that boy now." 

"Goes out with?" Warren sputtered. "Like _dates_? Romantically?"

Ursula nodded, as if the idea were disheartening.

"A curly-haired... dang!" He slapped his forehead and laughed. "I'm such a doofus, you know that?" He grinned. "Harry's the guy's name right?" 

Ursula nodded. "Sounds familiar. Might be it." 

"Man! I can't believe I didn't see that!" Still chuckling, Warren looked at the invite in his pocket. "Guess I know where to find him then."

"Tell Peter 'hi' for me?" She asked.

"No problem," Warren gave her a little salute. "Thanks for all your help - and the cookies." 

He headed back to his car and got in, shaking his head. He wondered if Mary Jane and Johnny knew. Maybe and maybe not, depending on how discrete the two were being. Even so - he felt like the world's biggest idiot for not being able to spot it.

On reflection, he wondered how he missed what was right in front of his eyes. Driving off towards Harry's, he resolved to be more observant and astute in the future.

OOO

"See this envelope?" Norman held it out to Emily who grasped it a bit clumsily in her tiny hands. "Do you know what this invitation is?" She shook her head 'no,' waiting for him to tell her. "Mark the date on it well, child.

"It's the day we begin to take our vengeance," he leered.

Taking the envelope back from her, he looked at it with a self-satisfied air. It hadn't taken much to convince Fisk to have the invitation extended to guests of the invited. And, knowing Harry would be invited too, it made for the perfect setup - assuming Harry went. Yet since the rumor was that Warren had been reaching out to Harry, surely he would.

There, at that very public venue, Norman would twist events and expose Harry for what he was, then proceed to take from the boy everything he had. 

Elsewhere in the complex, Ben drooped over a computer screen full of formulas. Ever since he had been separated from his sister, his days were filled with lessons from Fisk and from others. He didn't always understand and while Fisk was less creepy than his father, he still had little time to enjoy himself and was never treated with any measure of kindness.

Exhausted, he thought he might take a little walk. While he was toddling aimlessly down the corridors, going deeper and deeper into the bowels of the complex, the alarms suddenly went off. Lights flashed and sirens blared but all Ben did was duck underneath a stairwell and avoid the scientists who were rushing about. In a distant way, he wondered what had caused the panic before setting off again along the deserted hallways. 

There was nothing much down there to interest; most everything was locked up. It was nice, however, to have some peace and quiet for once. When he reached the fourth or fifth sublevel, however, he noticed that one of the labs that was normally sealed up lay open. Walking up to the doors he peered inside but couldn't see anything very clearly.

Fear made him hesitate. However, it wasn't long before curiosity overpowered his fear and he took a tentative step inside.

The room itself would have been enough to give Ben pause. The temperature was colder than in the hallway and complicated equipment filled every corner, blinking and gleaming. The air smelled vaguely of chemicals and racks of strange fluids filled the expanse of one wall. All of this, however, was nothing compared to what was at the front end of the laboratory.

There, suspended in midair, was one of the most bizarre sights Ben had ever see. There was the body of a man in the middle, portly and limp, looking as though he was heavily drugged. Attached to the man were what appeared to be huge metal snakes coming out of his back like bizarre appendages.

Sniffling, Ben wiped his nose on his sleeve before taking little steps forward towards the man. Despite the man's strange appearance, the boy's curiosity again got the better of him and he decided to attempt to get a reaction from the figure.

"Hey mister!" He yelled to the man who didn't respond. Seeing the control panel, he leaned over it and pushed a few buttons. Lights turned on overhead and a number of readings that he couldn't make sense of popped up on various screens. Then, without warning, the suspended man seemed to wake and turned to look at Ben.

The boy took a step back; he had been curious but some part of him hadn't actually believed the man would respond. Now that the man's blood-shot brown eyes were looking at him, Ben whimpered and wondered if he should be running away.

"A child?" He breathed, blinking to clear his vision. "You look..." He studied the diminutive face, as if trying to recall. "You look like Peter..." He remarked softly.

Finally utterly frightened, the boy backed away and whimpered a bit. The man smiled kindly at him and the appendages turned towards Ben when the sound of footsteps came from down the hall.

"... breech wasn't really anything and now we've lost all this time..." A flurry of scientists burst into the room. The head one gasped when he saw Ben staring at the suspended man, who by now was lying limply like he had before.

"Benjamin Fisk!" The attendant tutted. "What do you think you're doing here? Kingpin will be very displeased if he learns that you're wandering the halls instead of focusing on your lessons."

He was then scooped up and unceremoniously bustled out of the room. However, despite his fear over returning, he was suddenly intensely curious about the man who had given him a smile - a good smile, friendly, without any daggers or teeth behind it like the rest of the smiles he was given.

Though he didn't know when he could, Ben very much wanted to go back.

OOO

Leaving his car on the street below, Warren decided to be a little creative in his method of message delivery. Ducking into the adjacent alley and taking off his overcoat and blazer, he took the invite in his hand and ruined yet another dress shirt by ripping holes in the back for his wings. With a flap, he ascended and hovered in front of the Osborn penthouse, knocking on the bay windows.

"Warren?" Peter was inside studying and turned towards the knocking, throwing them open to let him in.

"Hi!" He grinned.

"Oh. Hey. Um, hi there. I was just... er..." He tried to think up a plausible excuse for why he would be at the penthouse when Harry wasn't home and no photography was going on.

"It's OK," Warren clapped him on the shoulder. "That girl at your apartment - Ursula, was it? - told me about you guys when I went to your old place to drop off this." He shoved the invite into the bewildered man's hands. "I can't believe I didn't notice it - but hey, no worries, my lips are sealed," he winked. "And I think you two look very good together.

"So I just thought I'd extend an invite to you to come to my annual Christmas gala - I hope you'll show up. As a guest, I mean, not a photographer. And bring Harry with you, alright?" Warren laughed. "He's been a tough one to get to come to functions like this, but I hope that if you're going, he'll go with."

"I'll... I'll be sure to tell him," Peter stammered.

"Well, I'm off then. I'd look at the picture but I want to wait until it's done - and I'm sure Harry would prefer that too." He gave Peter a wave as he climbed out onto the balcony railing. "See you later!"

He then dove towards the street below, gone in a flutter of wind and feathers, leaving Peter looking down after him. 

"Wow." He murmured, looking at the gilded card in his hands. The rich sure could be odd sometimes.

OOO


	40. Wedded to Calamity

_OOO_

"Who was that dear?" Aunt May came down the hallway, carrying her knitting. "I thought I heard somebody at the door."

"That, Aunt May, was Warren Worthington the third." Peter passed her the card. "The guy Harry's doing the portrait for. Warren's invited us to his Christmas party."

"Are you going to go?"

"I'll try," he sighed. "Warren wants me to be a guest, not a photographer, but if Jameson wants me there to take pictures I won't have much say in the matter; at least not if I want to keep the job."

She nodded; despite Harry's pleadings, May understood and agreed with her nephew's desire to supply at least some of their income. "Well whichever way you attend, I hope you have fun."

"It should be a good time. Warren isn't as stodgy as a lot of the other society types who hold functions like these so I'm sure it will be better than a lot of what I have to attend." May handed the invite back and he set it on Harry's desk, leaning against the aged wood as he watched Aunt May fluff the pillows on the couch. "What about you? Have you been keeping busy? Are you comfortable?" He blushed a bit. "We haven't been, you know, bothering you have we?" Sometimes when he was with Harry he forgot who else was in the house, only to recall later and wonder if they'd been overheard.

"Goodness, no," she smiled. "I'm quite cozy here. It's nice to finally get a chance to work on my sewing - I've been meaning to try a few new quilting patterns for a couple of years now but it was hard to find time when I was living alone. Even with just the apartment, running errands took a lot of time and left me rather tired."

"Should have told me," Peter kindly reproached. "I would have been glad to do them for you."

"You had enough to worry about - and still do for that matter," she replied as she situated herself. The needles clicked together as she worked with the yarn. "It's simply good to know that now you're part of a proper home."

"Proper?" He laughed. "This place is somewhere between a fort and a madhouse."

"But the people you love live here," she pointed out. "And that's all that matters."

"Speaking of which, Harry and I were hoping to take you out shopping one of these days, to get a new outfit for Mary Jane's wedding."

"That is coming up, isn't it. When will it be?"

"She and Johnny will have a quick ceremony at the courthouse in a couple of weeks and then a full ceremony in Antigua come February. Johnny wanted it to be on Valentine's Day - I think he's hoping it'll give him one less date to remember."

"Jonathon Storm... he's _interesting_, I will admit."

"He's an OK guy. And I think he'll make her happy." Peter grinned. "Not that Harry and I are exerting any pressure for him to do so. You know."

May cast him a knowing glance and went back to her knitting while Peter went back to the lab.

The test runs were still somewhat problematic - a handful of mice out of every batch were still demonstrating troubling signs of aggression - but he was getting closer, every day. Just a little more time, he thought, was all he needed and then they could bring Penny back from the brink as well.

_OOO_

When the date finally arrived, Peter and Harry went to the courthouse along with Ben Grimm and Matthew to serve as witnesses and to make sure all the proper papers were signed. Peter stood next to Harry while the official recited the necessary words. Harry reached out and took his hand, smiling as if to say 'we're next.' Ben Grimm, off to the other side of Johnny, quirked a rocky eyebrow but didn't say anything.

In the center of the group, MJ and Johnny stood before the official. MJ was wearing white, but it was a simple sheath dress - hardly the dress she dreamed she'd be married in. While visiting with Peter and Harry beforehand, she had started describing the one she was being fitted for and it sounded even more lavish than the one she'd worn to get married to John.

The ceremony itself was over in less than half an hour, leaving the two officially married in the eyes of the law. Mary Jane wasn't wearing the ring - she told them it wouldn't feel right - but they did have the certificate.

"Just so we're clear on this - this was only for the kid and stuff, right? You're not gonna expect me to remember two anniversaries are you?" Johnny asked as the newlyweds made their way to his car.

"No, Johnny," she rolled her eyes. "I'll probably be lucky if you remember one."

"I'll remember!" He shot back, indignant but playful. "Most of the time anyway. I swear. At least every other year. _At least. _Maybe more!"

"And my birthday? And the day we got engaged?"

"Don't expect miracles," he winked. "I'm a hero, not Anne Sullivan."

"Was that a theatrical reference? Why Johnny, I'm impressed," she teased.

"Want me to impress you a few other ways?" He grinned.

"_Johnny!_"

"What?! I don't get a wedding night? Come on! It doesn't count unless it's consummated!" He protested as they drove along.

Mary Jane rolled her eyes yet again. This time around, however, she didn't feel the least bit of doubt about her decision.

_OOO_

Betty Brant grinned as Peter came through the doors of the _Daily Bugle's_ headquarters and walked up to her.

"Hey," she whispered, holding the phone aside for a moment and giving him a little wave.

He pointed towards Jameson's office. "Can I go in?" He mouthed.

The secretary fiercely shook her head 'no' automatically. A moment later there was a crash from behind the door.

"THAT WAS THE _WORST _IDEA YOU EVER HAD!" Jameson's voice thundered through the walls and the beleaguered advertising head ran out of the office, white boards in tow. "Worse than all the other worst ideas!" Jameson leaned out of the door and screamed at the man's retreating back before turning towards Peter with a vicious glare. "You'd better have good news Parker!"

Nervously, Peter lifted the folder of photographs. "I hope you like them, sir."

"Bring 'em in and I'll take a look," Jameson growled, slamming the door behind him.

"Wish me luck," Peter whispered as he reached for the handle, Betty casting him a sympathetic glance as he went. Once inside, he closed the door quietly behind him and set the folder on the table.

Grabbing the photos, Jameson flipped through them with a critical eye.

"Where'd you get these?" He looked up at Peter as he chewed the end of his cigar.

"The first set are from that charity concerted last night, the next few are from this morning's deposition involving that CEO who supposedly embezzled and the rest are from an early morning apprehension of some guy calling himself Electro done by Spider-Man and Viridian."

Tossing the other pictures aside, Jameson focused on the last batch.

"These freaks," he spat. "They draw them out."

"Sir..."

"Probably all in cahoots, the lot of them!"

"Spider-Man did tie him up for the police," Peter pointed out. "And Viridian kept him from electrocuting the bystanders by getting them out of the way and drawing Electro up to the roof of the building."

"What a load of malarkey! Menaces to the public health. Even if they aren't specifically doing anything we can catch them at, they bring the other creeps out of the woodwork. Guys with eight arms, weirdoes throwing orange bombs, freaks in armored suits who look like animals, people spraying acid out of... _appendages_... and now this! Some nutjob who thinks he can control electricity!"

"I hardly think any of that is Spider-Man's..."

"Fault? Don't be absurd Parker, of course it is," he puffed. "Who do you think all these new freaks want to fight? Who do you think they target?"

"They might be there anyway! And if it weren't for heroes like Spider-Man and Viridian, who would protect everybody?"

"Gee, I don't know - the NYPD doing their damn jobs?" Jameson took the cigar out from between his lips. "What's got you so worked up today anyway, Parker? Not like you to talk back."

Peter exhaled and bit his tongue; too much and it would look suspicious. "I just think you're too hard on a couple of people who are trying to make things better."

"I'll be as hard as I like! You go jumping around in a spandex suit or cracked out army fatigues like that and you get what you ask for!" He bit down on the cigar fiercely and pulled out four of the photographs. "I'll take these. Stick the rest in your files or do whatever you do with 'em."

"Yes, sir," Peter nodded, taking the extras and retreating into his office. He glanced down; the picture on top was one of Harry getting jolted practically point blank. He'd come home bemoaning that one, but really all it had done was scorch his armor. It was almost too much, though. To have days and nights like they had, only to hear his boss lay into their actions he got into work?

Maybe Harry was right; maybe he should just focus on his schoolwork and his responsibilities to the city and let Harry take care of the finances. Anything to spare himself from another Jameson tirade. Besides, he reasoned, he would graduate in a year or two anyway and then probably get a job as a scientist or teacher or something. What good would a photographer's portfolio do then?

As he filed the pictures, he tried to push Jameson's comments out of his mind. It was absurd, patently false - or at least as much the fault of other people like the Fantastic Four as it was theirs. Besides, he and Viridian were the moral spirit, the ones who would come for _any _emergency, not just the planet-threatening ones, and who were more visible than guys like Matt. A good example, he reasoned, was cause enough to continue no matter what Jameson thought.

He only wished that setting a good example didn't always leave his body so sore.

_OOO_

Matthew Murdock shifting one set of paperwork into his drawer and pulled out another. Even if he felt that bringing down the Kingpin was a crucial pursuit, he did still have clients and responsibilities towards them. Though he was not normally a family law practitioner, he handled a few of the affairs of the superhuman community due to privacy concerns.

As he took care of licenses, wills, property transactions and other matters, however, his mind kept drifting back to what he'd uncovered about Wilson Fisk thus far. Frustratingly, it wasn't much - just enough to rile Matthew and let him know Fisk's works were far from ethical, yet not enough to prove in any court of law, even with his rhetorical skill.

Rumors of a prodigy, an heir apparent to Fisk's empire continued to circulate, but Matthew wasn't even entirely certain about the gender of the child since there were conflicting reports. Adding to the stress was the problem of Norman Osborn and the role he was playing.

On one hand, he might be useful in causing dissension amongst Fisk's normally airtight ranks. On the other, who knew how much he'd told Fisk about Peter and Harry?

Agitated, Matthew left his desk to go out on patrol. He monitored Hell's Kitchen, as always, but every now and again he paid a visit to Peter and Harry's home, just to be sure that everything was alright there. With so many threats wandering around one could not, he felt, be too careful.

_OOO_

As the weather gradually grew colder and the date of Warren's party drew near, Harry painted on layer after layer and the portrait gradually came to completion. As he regarded the nearly finished work, even Harry had to admit that it was one of his better, if not his best, pieces. Peter loved it, of course, but Peter was free with compliments, especially towards people he cared about, and Harry wasn't sure if he could trust Peter's artistic assessment.

Yet as he finished, he found very little that he was dissatisfied with. Given Warren's cheerful disposition, he couldn't imagine the perpetually enthusiastic young man finding any problem with it whatsoever. Better still, it would be ready in time for Christmas, a suitable gift to present that evening.

And speaking of things to present that evening...

Harry opened the locked drawer in his desk and withdrew a small velvet box, taking another peek at its contents as if to verify that it was still there. The ring, his original ruby and sapphire impulse, sparkled in the dim light of the setting sun that poured in through the penthouse windows. It was beautiful - and would be even more, Harry thought, when it was on Peter's hand.

Hearing footsteps down the hall, he quickly replaced it and locked the drawer. He couldn't help a self-satisfied smile from gracing his features, however.

"What's up with you?" Peter smiled as he walked in the room. "What's with the grin?"

"Nothing," Harry replied, still grinning like a damn fool, he realized. "I'm just happy to see you."

"Uh-hunh," Peter replied, looking at him with playful suspicion. "What are you up to Harry? I know that look. It's your plotting look."

Harry threw his hands up defensively. "I'm not plotting anything. I swear!"

"Right." Peter shook his head as he leaned in and kissed him. "Say what you like; I'll figure it out eventually."

"Lets just figure out what we're going to do for dinner," Harry replied after a few more kisses. "I feel like going out tonight so pick a place, anywhere you like. And no speeches about being seen, I'm not taking 'no' for an answer this once."

Peter gave him a reproachful glare. "You spoil me, you know that?"

"I can't help myself," he grinned and shrugged. "Now lets hurry, before all of the good places start to get crowded."

"What about Aunt May?"

"Let her know," Harry replied as he pulled on a suit jacket. "We'll all go out."

"Be there in five minutes then. Promise." He walked into the hall and turned around. "And I'm still going to figure out what you're smiling about!"

"Just get ready!" Harry retorted with a laugh before going down to warm up the car.

_OOO_

A/N: So this story is very nearly over and I have mentally mapped out a sequel; I might do a few one-shots before then, though, if I decide to do the sequel at all. Anyway, as this is very likely the last update of 2007, I thank you all for reading over the past few months, wish you the best during the holidays and hope you continue to read and enjoy in 2008. _  
_


	41. Happy We'll Be

_OOO_

"What's the rush, Pete? The party's not for another two hours. Where's the fire?" Harry looked up from the sports program he was watching as Peter fastened cuff links on his wrist. "We've got plenty of time."

"_You _have plenty of time," Peter corrected. "I'm photographing for Jameson. Remember?"

"I was hoping I'd talked you out of that," Harry sighed and went back to watching Mike Wilbon arguing loudly with Tony Kornheiser.

"I'd like to keep my job, thank you. For now at least. And that means I don't have the option of being fashionably late." Peter looked into the mirror that guarded the lair and straightened his tie. "Jameson wants me getting pictures of people entering so I have to be there a bit early. And what about you? Two hours isn't that much time - you're barely half-dressed."

"You don't like that?" Harry smirked.

"Funny. You should be getting your painting ready and making yourself presentable."

"Three steps ahead of you, Pete. Had it covered and shipped to Warren's yesterday so that he could get it set up for an unveiling."

"I was wondering where it went; thought you might have moved it into another room or something. Did he like it?"

"Pft. Of course he did. Warren likes_everything_. It is a good painting though, if I do say so myself."

"Well I can't wait to see it finally finished - although I don't know why you wouldn't let me peek. It's not like I haven't watched you painting it for months."

"I want the finished product to make an impact - even on you." He switched the television off and stood up. "But painting or not, I suppose I ought to get ready."

"Alright then - I'll see you there." Peter grabbed his camera and made for the hallway elevator. "Oh, and Harry?" He spun around.

"Yeah?"

"Be careful. Who knows who might show up tonight? You're not the only wealthy one with a secret or twelve."

"I'll keep that in mind. You wearing the suit?"

"Not underneath my clothing. I've got one hidden in a trash can in the alley behind Warren's home, just in case."

"Sounds good to me." Walking over to Peter, Harry kissed him goodbye. "Take some good pictures, OK? Try to get my good side."

"I'll try," Peter winked and, shouldering the camera, went down the stairs to catch the subway.

Once Peter was completely gone and Harry was certain that he was safe, he pulled the ring out of his desk and set it out so that he would be sure to remember it. Tonight was the night, for sure - he'd put the moment off long enough and, while he was learning to be more patient than he had been, felt he couldn't wait much longer.

He dressed in a suit painstakingly selected for the occasion. Peter teased him when he was dithering over his wardrobe, thinking Harry was simply trying to look sharp for the other guests. He _was_dressing to impress; and he grinned at the thought of the look on Peter's face when his boyfriend realized that he was the focus of Harry's special attire. Looking into the mirror in his room, he applied the finishing touches. His scars were covered by the makeup, partly because he was still more comfortable with it on when he was in public, but also because Peter seemed to find the process of rubbing it off to be arousing. An emerald tie pin sparkled on the black silk below the knot, and his hair was carefully moussed and every inch of his clothing was pressed to sharpness.

As a final thought, Harry reached for cologne, then stopped; Peter, he reminded himself, didn't care for that. And it was to be Peter's night after all, even if he didn't know it yet.

Finally satisfied with the way he looked, Harry went into the great room, pocketed the ring then called for Flint. The Sandman materialized in front of him in a matter of moments.

"Yeah, Mr. Osborn?"

"I'm about to leave for Warren's party. Is everything secure?"

"Been quiet all evening."

"Good. See that it stays that way. Peter and I will be gone for most of the evening, not sure when we'll be back. May will be here, however, and I want to be sure that she's safe."

"You can count on me, sir."

"I hope so. In the event that there's a problem, my cell - the private one - will be on vibrate. Call if anything goes wrong that needs our immediate attention."

"Can do. Anything else?"

"That's all. By now I trust that you know what to do."

"Sure," he nodded. "Have a good evening sir. And good luck with... you know." He nodded at the pocket that held the ring.

"Thank you. I'll try," he grinned. "And I think things will go well."

He walked down to the garage, humming to himself, cheerful with a touch of smugness and over-confidence, unaware of where the night would lead.

_OOO_

The moment he entered the ballroom, Peter gave a low whistle. It was obvious that Warren had gone to a great deal to host the party - or at least it seemed so to him. Perhaps such displays of extravagance were de rigueur for the obscenely wealthy. Despite the obvious wealth, however, Warren - like Harry - was not ostentatious. The Christmas tree in the corner was a simple affair of lights and ribbon and the holly and candle displays on the dark red tablecloths were elegant in their simplicity. Even the band that was warming up in the corner was of limited size, though obviously skilled. In the far corner was a large object draped in black velvet that Peter realized must be Harry's painting.

"Peter!" A voice came from the far end of the room and he saw Warren walking between a massive set of double doors. "You're here!" He walked over to him and vigorously shook his hand. "But where's Harry?"

"He's coming later," Peter said, blushing faintly at Warren's friendliness and ease. "I'm taking pictures tonight, for the _Bugle_."

"Pete! This is a party," Warren gave him a look of slight disappointment. "You shouldn't have to work."

"Don't worry about it," he shrugged. "I had this argument with Harry already. Three times in fact. I like to stay employed and taking photos at something like this is one way to do it."

"I thought you only took pictures of Spider-Man?"

"I used to, back when I freelanced; now I have a semi-permanent position as a staff photographer. Better pay, but the hours are a little more demanding."

"Well I hope you find _some _time to enjoy yourself. Feel free to dig in to the refreshments, by the way. The tempura is fantastic - I already tried it - and so is the spinach-avocado dip with the toast points. Help yourself now, before everybody starts arriving and you get caught up taking pictures."

"No problem."

Peter loaded up a plate and set it down, along with a glass of sparkling water, and took a few bites before Jameson arrived and started barking at him. He snapped pictures of a few of the couples and businessmen entering in, many of them taking pictures with Warren, shaking his hand as they arrived. Peter continued taking shots until one particular face stepped in front of the lens.

Harry was right; despite the changes, there was no mistaking that face - or that grin.

Leering and winking at Peter, the moment and the man passed before he knew it and Jameson was quietly upbraiding him for getting distracted. Lifting the camera up, he resumed snapping pictures. Nevertheless, he couldn't shake the sick feeling that had settled in the pit of his stomach and he worried that he would be in for a lengthy night.

_OOO_

The evening wore on, at first without incident. Harry had come in about half an hour after his father and winked at Peter, making him blush a little and hide behind his camera lens. Johnny, Peter recalled, had been invited too but seemed to be a no-show; perhaps MJ hadn't felt up to going. It_was _getting rather late in her term. Shortly after all of the guests arrived, Harry's painting had been presented to a few gasps at the sight of Warren's wings but also much applause. Harry had bowed and smiled and winked at Peter while Warren gushed over it. As it was a charity event, Warren was periodically auctioning off gift-wrapped boxes, each 'gift' representing a particular charity that would get the money. The band played a variety of dances and Peter meandered around taking pictures, noticing that Harry, who'd slipped off after the unveiling and done something with the band, was now fairly well stationed by the bar, staring at his father.

Exhausted for the moment, Peter sat back down next to Jameson while his employer's wife fluttered about, flattering the others in attendance.

"Getting some good shots, Parker?" He growled and swirled his drink.

"I think so, sir," Peter replied, taking a bite out of a pate-smeared cracker.

"You'd better. Didn't give you that position for nothing." Jameson sighed. "Be nice if something happened worth taking a picture though."

"I thought the party _was _what we were taking pictures of."

"Don't be obtuse, Parker, any more than you always are. You know how these things go - city's wealthiest all turn out, there's drinking, dancing, some young blond has a bit too much, does a table dance, flashes for the crowd before going down..."

"It's a charity event, not a nightclub."

"And you think that's going to keep shit from happening?" He looked towards the bar and nodded at Harry. "Take him for instance. The brunette swilling scotch like it was water. Wasn't he the one that smacked you the last time?" Peter blushed. "If he gets sloshed and does that to, say, the mayor instead of a nobody like you and you get the shot of it - now _that's_ a story."

Even if Harry did get drunk, Peter thought, there was no way he would be taking compromising pictures of his boyfriend. He'd be sleeping on the couch for a month if he did. But there was no need to let Jameson know that, not when he seemed so hopeful that Harry would be embarrassing himself before the evening was out.

Glancing over again, however, Peter noticed that Harry was looking especially intense. He looked over at Peter and slid off the bar stool - but not before he was intercepted.

By his father.

Peter took a drink of water and tried to steady himself. It was a party - surely neither one would try anything. Then again, either could be unpredictable at times, and his Spider-sense was already faintly twanging. For the moment they only seemed to be talking; but whatever they were talking about, Peter was sure it boded ill.

_OOO_

"I see where you're looking," Norman whispered. "Not another step, Harry. Or you'll be displaced from OsCorp so fast it will make your head spin."

Harry chuckled. "You think I'm afraid of you? Not likely."

Norman's jaw clenched. "You should be. Don't be naive Harry. With what I know about you and Peter..."

"You'll do what?" Harry interrupted, sarcastic. "This isn't the fifties. This isn't the culture, the society you grew up in. People aren't so ashamed of things like this. Of relationships like ours. I'm not ashamed and it's time I showed it."

"I'm warning you Harold... do this and you might not be painting your silly pictures solely for amusement. Ask Peter what it's like, living as a starving artist instead of in a penthouse."

"Save your breath!" He snapped. "Your threats don't scare me - you're nothing but a lackey to Fisk now, a lackey who's run out of options. You'll never get the company and I'll see to it that you _never _hurt me or Peter."

He strode off, towards Peter's table.

"That, Harold, is what you think," he hissed, enraged and his eyes glowing a faint green.

_OOO_

"And speak of the devil," Jameson smirked as Peter saw Harry making his way over to their table. "What's he mad about this time?"

"I don't know," Peter muttered in a strained voice.

Before he knew it, Harry was at the table, standing in front of them and holding out his hand.

"Come on, Peter," he smiled.

Peter stared at the proffered appendage, dumbfounded.

"Harry, what are you thinking?" He managed to stammer, blushing furiously as he realized that Jameson was watching the exchange.

"This is a party, isn't it? Parties are for dancing."

"Harry, you're drunk," Peter breathed, the blush deepening. "You must be. What are you thinking, doing something like this, when... when _he's_ here and so many people..."

Tired of waiting, Harry grasped Peter by the hand and pulled him out of his chair, barely giving him enough time to set the camera down.

"We can't do this..."

"Watch us," Harry whispered as he lead Peter out onto the dance floor and nodded to the leader of the band, in whose pocket he'd earlier slipped double Warren's fee for the evening, along with a request and directions for when to play it. The vocalist stepped up to the microphone and snapped his fingers, giving the band the rhythm.  
_  
Somewhere beyond the sea, somewhere waitin' for me, my lover stands on golden sands..._

Peter, dazed, very nearly stumbled, but Harry was light on his feet - surprising, Peter thought, given how much he'd seemed to be drinking. He lead Peter around the room smoothly, following the music to perfection and occasionally giving Peter a careful twirl, swinging him out then bringing him back in close. As he relaxed, Peter looked into Harry's eyes and saw them sparkling.

"See?" He murmured.  
_  
It's far beyond a star, it's near beyond the moon..._

Around them, the other guests had begun to notice that Harold Osborn, heir to the OsCorp empire, was dancing with another man. It had taken Jameson all of ten seconds to register the fact that the other man was his employee. Then he scooped up the camera Peter had left behind and started taking pictures of them as fast as he could snap. Peter saw the occasional bulb going off out of the corner of his vision, but mostly he was too entranced by Harry to notice. The whispering grew louder as the music swelled, filling the hall.

_... Happy we'll be, beyond the sea, and never again I'll go sailin'_

The music began to fade and as it did, Harry gently let go of Peter. By the end of it, they were the only ones left dancing. Gazing at one another, they barely noticed the crowd staring at them - and took no notice of Norman, near the door, shooting them one last murderous glance before slinking out. Harry lifted Peter's chin and kissed him, eliciting gasps from others, more snapping from Jameson and a grin from Warren.

Still feeling somewhat numb at what they'd just done, Peter was slow to realize that Harry was now kneeling, opening a box up in front of him. When he saw what was being offered, he nearly stopped breathing.

"Stay with me, Pete. Forever."

Everything grew quiet; even Jameson stopped for a moment. Peter broke the silence moments later with a single whispered word.

"Yes."

"Whooo!" A suddenly, loud and raucous burst of clapping issued forth from Warren as Harry slid the ring on Peter's finger. The blond forced his way through to them and threw his arms around them just as Harry was standing back up. "It's great to see you guys finally make a commitment!" Then he turned towards the guests and gestured to the couple as Peter pulled Harry close. "Harry Osborn and Peter Parker, everybody!"

In the confusion of exclamations and well-wishes that followed, Peter barely had time to think. It was only half an hour later, when he looked around, that he realized Norman was nowhere to be found. Panicked, he pulled Harry aside.

"Harry, we need to leave right now!" He whispered. "We have to go!"

Harry took him by the shoulders. "What's the matter Pete? Everything went perfectly - you and I..."

"It's not about us! Your father," he whispered, "is gone, and heaven only knows where he went and what he intends to do when he gets there!"

"He's probably just fuming. But," he replied, noticing the look on Peter's face, "I'll go and make our excuses to Warren and we'll leave early. Ok?"

Peter nodded. "I'll leave the camera with Jameson. Judging from how many pictures he snapped of you and me, he won't be letting that film go for anything. Meet me at the door."

Harry nodded then began moving towards Warren, while Peter asked the valet for their coats, feeling more nervous than even.

_OOO_

Carefully so as not to chip or break them, Penny Marko lifted the ornaments out of the tissue paper that her mother stored them in. She hummed a line or two of 'Jingle Bells' and smiled when she saw her mother in the doorway with hot chocolate.

As Emma walked towards her, the world exploded.

_OOO_

A/N: So next chapter will probably be the last. Can't say for sure whether there will be a sequel; if you have an opinion on the matter, there's a poll in my profile. As always, feel free to send comments, questions, opinions, etc.

And as a brief digression for those who read comics... Yeah, OMD was a bit bizarre and not the best way to end things. But as for BND - anything that brings back Harry is fine by me. I just wish they'd changed his hair from that horrendous older 'do. Alas, you can't have everything. And it was a nice cheer up after Ultimate. So despite all the anger going around (and there's plenty) - I honestly can't say I'm entirely upset. But maybe that's just me.

Anyway. Review if you like, I hope you enjoyed and I promise the conclusion will be posted soon.


	42. Family

_OOO_

The problem with Harry, Norman thought with a smug sense of satisfaction, was that he never thought outside of the box or paid enough attention to detail. He was well aware that the Osborn penthouse was being guarded. However, from the night he'd visited he also knew that the one guarding it was that same sand creature who had attacked Harry and Peter nearly two years ago.

From there it had been rather simple to find out that the monster's real name was Flint Marko and that he had an estranged wife and daughter living elsewhere in New York, vulnerable and unguarded. While Harry and Peter were so busy fretting about Mary Jane and Aunt May and their own home, they forgot that they'd involved a little girl.

With that information in hand, Norman knew precisely where to strike.

As he suited up, he gritted his teeth and thought back on the evening. Unfortunately, it had not gone as planned; though he was loathe to admit it, he had underestimated Harry. Either the boy was incredibly stupid or (to his dismay) more perceptive than Norman. Owning to his relationship with Peter might or might not work out for him. The point, however - at least for Norman - was that by taking the initiative himself, he took control of the situation away from Norman. And that couldn't stand.

Even knowing their identities would not do him any good, he surmised. After all, both Worthington and Storm publicly acknowledged their identities. With Peter and Harry suddenly so friendly with the both of them, a public admission of that might not be far behind either. Striking at Peter and Harry themselves was not the best option, not what he needed to do to make them truly suffer. Fortunately there were still ways left open to him; lucky for him that they failed to think of everything.

Honestly, though, he expected no less from such a persistent failure. Harry would always leave himself vulnerable, always demonstrate some weakness. That, Norman smirked, was why he could always be hurt and manipulated and torn apart. Flying off into the night, he relished the thought of Harry's reaction when he captured the little girl and killed her in front of him, mutilating the corpse and then throwing it to the boy as a sign of what came to those who defied him.

From a window in the complex, Emily watched the gliders lights twinkle and grow more distant in the evening sky, a trail of light smoke swirling in its wake. She watched until long after he was gone, until it was well past twilight and her head was nodding. For some reason, she wished he hadn't left and hoped that he would return soon. Her symbiote coiled around her, already missing its parent. It provided Emily with a lingering thread of connection, parent to offspring, symbiote to host, that was her only consolation.

_OOO_

"You have to go already? But that party isn't even half over!" Warren looked confused. "Are you uncomfortable now? I mean, I know a few people made some rude remarks but most people didn't seem that weirded out or offended."

"It's nothing to do with that. It's... it's a long story," Harry sighed. "I'm so sorry Warren; we would both really love to stay. But it's urgent; you have to trust me on this. Please don't think us rude; it's been a lovely time, it really has, but we have to go. Alright?"

Warren studied him before a moment, looking into Harry's eyes as if he were searching for something. Then he smiled.

"I'm really 0 for 2, aren't I? I didn't pick up on your relationship and I didn't get this until now." He leaned in. "Peter's just been taking pictures of himself, hasn't he? That's how he always knows where to go. That how he gets such close angles."

Harry hesitated for a second, and then nodded.

"If that's the case, then you'd better go," Warren went on. "I'm sure it's important. But if you need my help, you have my number. Ok?"

"We appreciate it," he replied with a nod. "I'll explain more later, but for now I really have to get going." He started to back away and move towards Peter who was holding their coats. "Oh - and Warren? Give yourself a little credit. You're not nearly as obtuse as you think you are."

"Thanks," Warren grinned. "And stay safe!"

He watched the couple leave with a smile plastered on his face but unease in his mind. Whatever they were rushing to confront, he hoped it wasn't anything too terrible. Privately, he vowed to himself that, party or no party, if they needed help, he would be there.

_OOO_

The first bomb that went off blew half of the wall off and created a charred path into the kitchen and living room. It took a moment for the smoke clear and when it did it revealed a woman in the center, bleeding from a variety of cuts. There was shattered porcelain from mugs and glass from ornaments all around and the plastic on the fake tree had partially melted. Choking on the smoke, the woman looked up at him.

"Who the hell are you?" She coughed.

"The girl!" Norman demanded. "Where's the girl!"

"Like I would tell you," she spat.

Enraged, Norman flew over, grabbing her and slamming her against the wall. A gurgling sound came from her throat and blood trickled out of the corners of her mouth.

"TELL ME!" He screamed at her.

She made no verbal reply but shook her head no, so he smacked her across the face, leering beneath the mask at the sound of her jaw breaking.

"It doesn't make a difference you know," he hissed. "She's disabled; she couldn't have gotten very far. And this house isn't that large. I'll find her. And I'll kill you." He leaned in, pushing the mask into her face. "But you have a choice. You can cooperate and I can make it quick and easy for both of you. Or you can resist and I can make you both wish you'd never been born."

"Monster," she breathed.

"I told you to tell me," he growled. "Or I after I've crushed your skull I'll rape the shit out of her until she'll _beg _to die."

Enraged, Emma tried to knee him but he simply reached down and broke her leg. Clutching her by her collar he levitated into the air and shook her viciously.

"Now, for the last time - tell me where she is!"

"Go to hell and burn there, bastard," she croaked.

Furious, he swung her beaten body like a club, dashing her head against the wall and sending bits of bone, flesh and brain flying everywhere.

_OOO_

When the first blast had hit and they'd heard the cackling, Emma had looked up from where she'd fallen, prostrate on the floor.

"Penny - crawlspace, now!" She had commanded in a whisper. "Don't come out until I say!"

Terrified, Penny had clambered into a tiny storage space beneath the stairs that lead from the living room to the upstairs bedrooms. Although she was frightened, Penny left the door open a crack so that she could see what was happening to her mother. She watched as her mother pulled herself up to where the tree was to lean against the wall, saw the monster enter and grab her mother. Penny listened as they argued, trembling as he hurt her, horrified and helpless at her inability to prevent it.

When he lifted Emma's body up, Penny realized what was about to happen but could not look away. The crack in the door allowed a drop of something wet and squishy to land on her face; Penny whimpered and nearly vomited.

Then the horrible green visage with the glowing eyes turned towards her, towards the sound that she'd made. Clamping a hand over her mouth, Penny scooted back into the darkness of the crawlspace, bile rising in her throat. It was too late, however; a moment later the door to the space was torn off.

"Well, well. What have we here?"

_OOO_

The moment that Harry pulled the car around, Peter jumped into it, crawled into the backseat and started putting his costume on. The windows were tinted so that he couldn't be seen, but he crouched down anyway as he unbuttoned the suit coat and pulled off the tie.

"I called Flint," said Harry as they turned a corner. "Nothing's going on at the penthouse."

"I'm not surprised," Peter replied as he pulled his spandex shirt on. "Norman probably knows the place is guarded. I doubt he'd come after us. What about MJ? Have you checked on her?"

"I tried calling Johnny but there was no answer. I wouldn't worry about it too much though - he has his sister and all of those guys to back him up if he needs it. She's probably more secure than we are."

"Turn on the police radio, then," Peter asked as he wiggled out of his pants. "See if he's trying something with civilians, like that bridge incident. Whatever he does, if he does anything, I'm sure it will be large enough that they'll broadcast it for the cops."

Harry clicked on the radio as Peter clambered back into the front seat. For a moment, everything was quite. Then, as they were pulling in to the penthouse's underground garage, an emergency call came through.

_Explosion in the Forest Hills area... suspected metahuman activity... all available units, please report... repeat, there's been an explosion in the Forest Hills area..._

Peter's eyes widened and he looked at Harry, panicked.

"Penny!" He whispered.

Harry stopped the car with a screech, not even bothering to park it properly once it was in the garage.

"Flint!" He screamed as he frantically pressed the button for the elevator.

"Sir?" Flint materialized behind in a moment later. "Did everything go well? How was the party?"

"Never mind about that!" Harry screamed as he pushed the button a few more times, as if to make it arrive faster. "You need to get to your wife's house, _immediately_; I think my father might have attacked her and Penny!"

An instant later, Flint had dematerialized into a cloud of particles that could barely be seen and vanished in a gust of wind so strong that it nearly knocked Harry backwards.

"I'm going to take off too," Peter replied as he tugged his mask on. "Catch up with us as soon as you're suited."

"Stay safe Peter," Harry said, grasping his hand and giving him a last concerned look before stepping into the elevator and smashing the button for the top floor.

The moment the elevator opened Harry sprang out and started stripping off his formal clothing and strapping on pieces of armor. Grabbing the Sky Stick, he made for the balcony without even bothering to close the door to the lair. He revved the engine and took off into the night, hoping that he wouldn't be too late.

_OOO_

Clutching her oxygen tank, Penny tried to move as far back into the corner of the crawlspace as she could. Tears slipped down her cheeks as the monstrous green hand reached for her. Then suddenly, the Green Goblin was slammed aside by a column of sand.

_"Leave her!"_Flint Marko's voice thundered. While Norman was sprawled to the side, he materialized into his human form and went to Penny.

"I'm here, kiddo," he murmured.

"Daddy!" She cried and threw her arms around him. "He killed _mom!_" She sobbed and pointed to where Emma's mangled body lay, cast aside. "He_killed _her!"

"I know, sweetie, I know, but I'm here now..."

"Not for long!" Norman grunted. Though he was prone, he managed to sit up and throw a pumpkin bomb at the pair.

Instinctively, Flint formed a protective shield of sand to guard Penny. However, the projectile never hit. Instead, it was snagged mid-air by a line of webbing and thrown into the kitchen where it exploded but failed to harm anybody.

"Didn't I kill you once before?" Peter's voice came as he jumped into sight. "This is getting old." He taunted him, providing a distraction while Flint made his escape with Penny.

"Ah, Parker..." The Goblin remounted and hovered. "So where's my degenerate son? Isn't he going to join the party?"

"Harry's right behind me, ready to kick you ass!" Peter taunted as they exchanged blows.

"Oh really? _Kick _it? Because I thought he did other things to..."

"Shut the hell up!" As if on cue, Harry flew through the hole in the wall and maneuvered his glider to knock Norman off of his. Norman slammed into a wall and Peter attempted to web him down.

However, as Harry righted himself and came back around for another go, Norman slashed Peter with wrist blades, snapping the webbing and gashing his chest, then threw a concussive projectile at Harry. Harry slammed into the wall while Peter stumbled backwards, bleeding profusely.

While Peter tried to staunch the flow of blood, first with his hands then with a clot of webbing, Norman stalked over to Harry who was still reeling from his blow.

"Look at you," Norman spat. "Disfigured. Broken. Stupid. Queer." He shook his head. "You always were a disappointment, Harold." The symbiote then began oozing out of every joint in Norman's costume. It coated him, giving the mask even more teeth and giving him as nasty set of claws. He lifted them high, his now-lengthy tongue snaking forth in anticipation.

"Harry!" Peter cried out and shot two lines of webbing at them, hoping to drag Norman away from Harry.

The symbiote was prepared, however; he grabbed the webbing and flung Peter into a wall then stomped on the foot that Harry tried to pound him with, breaking it without even turning to look at his son. Making for Peter this time, Norman stood over his body, claws drawn.

"I've had enough of your interference," he growled, raking them across Peter's back and making him cry out.

Peter braced himself for another blow when, without warning, Norman was slammed away from him.

"Back the fuck off buddy!" A familiar voice cried out.

"Warren?" Peter over his eyes and saw Warren there, shirt off and wings extended.

"Saw you on TV - it's all over the news you know," he replied as he helped Peter up. "Looked like you two could use a han-!"

The symbiote, already recovered, sprang at him from behind and dug its claws into his wings. Peter saw Warren's face twist with pain then experienced a flash of spider-sense. He reacted, but a fraction too late, and was bowled aside by the glider while the symbiote shredded Warren's wings.

Looking up to see Warren lost in a haze of blood and feathers, Harry tried desperately to stand. His broken leg buckled beneath him, however, and he could barely focus for the pain he was in. Slumping against the wall he wanted to scream. His father had been right, he was going to win and they were going to die there, and then he'd go after Penny...

Every nerve in his body screaming with agony, Harry put all of his weight on his good leg and forced himself upright. Propped against the wall, he tried to consider his options. He couldn't rush Norman, bombs were no good because they might kill Warren or Peter, his leg was killing him, Peter was losing blood and Warren's screams told him all he needed to know about him.

They were out of options and out of luck.

_OOO_

Since Harry had left the windows open when he exited, Flint had no trouble in getting back into the penthouse, hoping he'd kept the sand faint enough to escape detection but solid enough to support Penny. As soon as they were inside, he laid her on the couch and changed back into human form. Hugging his daughter close, Flint did his best to reassure her.

"I need to go back and help Peter and Harry, OK? Just stay here, you'll be safe." He brushed her hair back and did his best to block out thoughts of Emma; he didn't need to break down in front of her, it would only upset her further. "Don't worry; we'll all be back in a little while. Alright? That monster can't be in two places at once. As long as we hold him down, he can't attack you and hurt you." He gave her a gravelly kiss.

Numb and trembling, Penny nodded, clutching the cushions of the sofa. As he stood to leave, a ringing came out of the pockets of Harry's dress pants.

Thinking it might be Peter or Harry needed help with cleanup or wanting him to keep a lower profile, Flint pulled out the cell phone.

"Hello? Harry?"

"_Harry?_Hell to the no! This is Johnny. Hey, is Harry there? MJ went into labor right before the party and she just delivered. I've been trying to contact him at the other numbers but he hasn't picked up! I've had to keep the cell off while I was in the hospital but I thought he'd pick up one of the times I stepped outside. I mean, I know this line is for emergencies and shit, but..."

"Storm!" Flint bellowed, interrupting him. "The Goblin's attacked."

"Um... _what?_"

"Harry's father - there's no time! Meet us there!" He blurted the address then hung up, dematerializing and hoping that he wouldn't be too late.

_OOO_

Johnny, standing outside of the hospital in order to use his cell phone, stared down at the little device. MJ would kill him for not being there, but she'd probably kill him worse if anything happened to the kid's godparents.

Without hesitation, he burst into flame and flew in the direction of Forest Hills. Pushing himself to his limits, he quickly found the location by the sight of the police cordon and the half-exploded house. Screams were emanating from inside and when he flew through the wall he found the sprinklers to be on, Flint to be dissolving, Peter bleeding in a corner, Warren Worthington III in a bloody, crumpled mess and Harry about two seconds away from impalement with a nasty looking glider.

A sudden spiral of flame that the paltry sprinklers could do nothing to stop enveloped Norman. Harry looked up to see the symbiote, alight and writhing with pain. Johnny stood there, a vicious look in his flame-bright eyes. He said nothing, but his face was twisted with rage and he ratcheted up the temperature of his flames.

Leaping, he pinned the symbiote to the carpet, still howling. Beneath him, the fire was scorching the floor; Norman's cries echoed as the metal and plastic of his suit melted and melded with what was left of his flesh and muscle. The symbiote flailed desperately, but juts of flame prevented it from escaping. Johnny immolated it and Norman in a single pyre, not stopping until the cries and the movement ceased.

Thinking it was finished Johnny backed off. He turned, shutting his flames off to aid the injured, when he heard a gasping from behind. While the symbiote was long vaporized, the goblin serum that still flowed through Norman's veins had sent every muscle and organ in his body into overdrive. Though not nearly enough to heal him, it gave him a frenzied burst of energy, one last chance to do _something _before every system went into shock and shut down. A morass of charred flesh and oozing wounds, Norman managed to crawl to his glider and cling to it, making a desperate, shaky flight out into the night.

Harry sat up, as if to try and stop him, but Johnny put a hand on his shoulder.

"No way, pal. You're way too beat up. And anyway, relax; there's not a chance in hell he lives after that. Better that he crawls off somewhere else to die - save us the trouble of disposing of his worthless corpse. You sit tight and I'll get the EMTs for the immediate stuff. And I'll make sure they're not nosy. Reed will see to any long term treatment."

Nodding, Harry blacked out.

_OOO_

It had been a lengthy night for Matthew Murdock. Though he'd been invited to Warren's soiree, he'd eschewed the party for another chilly evening gathering information about the breadth of Fisk's criminal pursuits. However, his night suddenly perked up when his ears caught the sound of a distant engine whining, nothing like a car and positioned as though it were in mid-air.

Hearing the glider streaking towards him long before it would have come into sight, Matthew made sure that he was well hidden. Fisk had been waiting on the roof opposite the one where Matthew was stationed for over and hour, motionless. Now it seemed that what he was waiting for had finally arrived.

"Fisk!" Matthew heard the rasping, pained voice of Norman Osborn. "Fisk, you must help me! Storm was there - Worthington as well, though he was no challenge. Storm, however- he killed the symbiote!" There was a spate of gasping and coughing. "You must take me to the chamber!" He pleaded.

"After you failed to acquire the company you promised would be in my control and then compromised me by flying your ridiculous machine back here without any pretense of secrecy?" Fisk sounded amused. "No, Norman, I do not think so.

"You promised me that you would remove the roadblock that Harold Osborn presented to acquiring his company. That taking over OsCorp would be a matter of trading stocks and filing paperwork. You promised me that Spider-Man would be dead. You promised me that my hand would be undetectable in all of this. On each account you have failed; and you, as a professional yourself, should know what happens to subordinates who fail.

"In the words of another well known businessman - you're fired."

There was a single shot, and then Matt heard more steps.

"Dispose of the body - I want it completely destroyed, right down to the bones. Find a machine in the lab to vaporize it or something. And above all, make sure the girl does not know about this. Ever."

Waiting until the roof was deserted, Matthew left, making as quickly as he could for Harry and Peter's home, desperate to find out what was happening.

_OOO_

Elsewhere in the compound, the doctors Fisk kept staffed were on their third dose of tranquilizers before the girl finally quieted down, though not before she'd made some nasty gashes on a few of them. However, though Emily's body was still, her mind was still reliving its own private, painful nightmare.

The symbiote, her symbiote's father, her father - he was dead. She had felt it, could feel it, still felt it incinerating and dying. It was unimaginable pain to her, and an even worse feeling of loss. If she hadn't been trained not to, she would have cried.

For the first time since her birth, she felt alone. Even her symbiote was of little comfort, traumatized as it was. Images of blood and flame writhed in her mind.

When she'd finally calmed, there was one memory that stood out. Before dying, her fathers had communicated to them one final piece of information - or five to be precise. Five names. Names that rang inside her head, names that she would never forget.

Names of men she would live to destroy.

_OOO_

While the hours ticked by, Penny waited, anxious and ill. It was her fault, she thought, seeing her mother's skull smashed apart before her eyes. She should have been strong enough, she should have been stronger. She should have been able to stop that monster.

Leaning against the arm of the couch, she sobbed. And when she lifted her head, a glint of something green caught her eye. Standing up and wandering over, she entered a room behind a mirror. A memory jogged, a story Harry had told her about himself, how he'd come to be who he was.

Off to the side was the chamber, silent and patient. Because Peter had been running tests, a canister was already loaded.

It was her fault. She should have been stronger. She should have stopped him. Her mother shouldn't have died for a girl about to die anyway.

It shouldn't have been that way. It was unfair. But sometimes... sometimes life gave you a way to right the wrongs, to correct the inequalities.

Penny walked up to the chamber.

_OOO  
OOO  
OOO_

Because it had been alternately snowing or raining in New York for the last week or so, Flint was unable to materialize for his wife's funeral. The only people in attendance, therefore, were Penny, Peter, Harry and the Storms. Mary Jane's newborn son Benjamin was swaddled in black for the occasion and Penny was clutching the battered octopus Harry had given her long ago - the only thing they had retrieved from the burnt-out house - while the minister went through the ceremony.

Harry was on crutches due to Norman snapping his leg in three separate places and fairly crushing his foot. All in all, however, he felt he'd gotten off easy. Reed had already released him and Peter; Warren however had been transferred to the X-Mansion. His wings had suffered potentially irreparable damage and Reed didn't feel prepared to deal with his injuries.

And as for Penny...

Harry looked down at her as she stared at her mother's coffin, tears streaming down her face. Following the attack she had been discovered by Matthew who had come by, concerned for Peter and Harry. As soon as he ascertained what she had done and contacted Johnny to find where the others were, he took her to Reed for observation. He'd given her a clean bill of health but that did little to alleviate their fears. The serum had worked towards keeping her from death, cleansing her blood of the leukemia that had polluted it, augmented her body as it had Harry's. However, neither man could shake the memory of the side effects that had been the price of such power and regeneration. All Peter and Harry could do was wait and hope that Peter had worked out enough of the difficulties that Penny would not succumb to the same madness that had plagued Norman and nearly swallowed Harry up as well.

One more concern to obsess over, Harry supposed.

Because Flint was, for all legal intents and purposes, out of the picture, Emma's will dictated that Harry was to have full custody of Penny. Though it wouldn't be formally read until after the funeral there was a room already prepared for her arrival. Harry felt it was the least he could do; events had been hard enough on her. He could at least try to provide something of a home, though he knew full well that nothing would ever be the same for her again.

Sheltering her under his wide, black umbrella, Harry gave her a small hug and she turned a tearful face up to him then looked back at her mother. He felt helpless in the face of her grief, wanting to assuage it but having no ability to do so. Despite the danger she had put herself in, he couldn't bring himself to chastise her at all for using the formula either. Really, he thought, it had been his fault - it had come about due to his carelessness.

His thoughts were still running in that direction when the two families parted ways and went home after the reading of her last will and testament. Once they were back, an exhausted Penny went straight to her room and cried herself to sleep, Harry and Peter staying with her until she drifted off. Once all was quite, they left and Harry sat down with Peter in the great room. Close as it was to Christmas, the place was decorated. For all Harry cared, though, it might as well have been draped with black.

"I know what you're going to say," Harry broke the silence. "Or at least what you should say. And I know. It's my fault. I shouldn't have goaded Norman. I should have taken care to lock the equipment up. I should have been better prepared. And if you want to take it further back - I should have realized how he thought. I should have protected Emma and Penny too, shouldn't have assumed he couldn't make the connection." He looked at Peter, crying quietly. "I'm so sorry."

Peter sat next to him and draped his arms around Harry.

"Let's not talk about fault. Alright? There's more than enough to go around. But most of all, it's Norman's fault. And now he's gone. Gone for good, not coming back - not now, now ever. So let's not worry about blame and accusing each other and punishing ourselves for what's in the past and for the actions of a monster." He kissed Harry. "Let's focus on healing."

"The guilt won't go away, though, will it?" Harry looked into Peter's eyes, his own bloodshot and still glassy with tears. "Over Emma and Penny and Warren... over everything I could have done and changed to make this turn out differently will. It never goes away; it just keeps piling up..."

Peter thought of Uncle Ben and gathered Harry into his arms. He wished he could deny and reassure Harry that it would be alright.

"No, Harry," he whispered. "Never. But I'll help you live with it - I swear I will." He brushed Harry's tears away with his left hand, so that Harry could see the ring. "I have not said the words yet; but I understand 'for better or for worse' and I'm ready to commit to that, starting now."

"You're my family Peter," Harry whispered as they kissed again. "And I'm yours..."

"That's right." Peter gripped his hand and settled against Harry's shoulder. "Family."

_OOO_

Having no one left, Emily was given Fisk's name. Yet she was her father's daughter to her core and would never forget that, no matter who adopted her. Fisk had ideas and plans for her future, but she only ever thought about one thing.

_Revenge_.

_OOO_

A/N: And that is the end - of this part of the story. First, a big thanks to MarronDaffy for being my beta these last dozen chapters. The poll from last time is now closed a a pretty strong majority (at least of those who voted) wanted the sequel. So that should start in a week or two. There will probably be a wedding 'mid-quel' and then about a five year time skip to focus on Penny, the two Benjamins and, of course, Norman's legacy Emily.

I hope you all enjoyed this fic and will keep following the story. Even if you don't, I hope you enjoyed the ride. Thank you all for your support and for making this fic so much fun to write. :)


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